The New World
by TheScribe6754
Summary: A continuation of "The New Recruit;" join our heroine, Liz Hawthorne, as she learns to deal with PTSD...seventeen years into the future, where the X-Men (well as a few old enemies) have changed or moved on. Some for better, some for worse. We will also be exploring new ships while we're at it. Suggestions, requests, and comments are welcome. OCXAzazel/Wolverine/Magneto(maybe)
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own X-Men or any of it's characters. Only my words!**

**_Note: This is experimental. I may or may not be finishing this series. Also, I'm now taking requests so if anyone wants me to do a spin-off based on an idea they might have, I'll be sure to check it out. That's all. Thanks for reading and ENJOY! ;D_**

Chapter 1: Awakening

The last thing I remember—

Is a face.

Fading out in the dark.

But I wasn't afraid. Somehow I wasn't afraid.

I felt as though I were just…falling asleep. You never know it when you fall asleep. Not unless you've ever been put to sleep before a surgery or drugged. Which I have.

But this felt different.

It wasn't like being put under anesthesia, but more like slowly falling into that space between sleeping and waking, just before falling into a deep sleep. And then it all just cut out. There was nothing at all. No pain, no thought, no anything. Just like in sleep. Emptiness. Even now, I can only recall vague images that had floated through my consciousness as I slept, but I can't for the life of me remember what they were.

And then I woke up.

I only knew at the time of my awakening that I was weak and disoriented. I felt light and heavy all at once as I came to my senses; a bright light shining in my eyes. I could hear someone gasping in the distance, but when the ringing in my ears subsided I realized it was me. That's when memories of what had happened seemingly hours ago resurfaced and I cried out as I sat up and looked down at my abdomen, expecting to see a gaping wound just below my rib cage where I had been stabbed by a blade as long as my forearm.

But there was none.

I brought my hands up to my diaphragm and noticed a glow of violet light around my hands that usually only appeared when I was preparing for an attack. Only this glow had crawled up my arms and spread about my entire body.

I watched wide eyed as it faded away and my hands returned to a more natural, solid state. " 'Azazel…' " A disembodied voice floated through the air and I looked around wildly, having believed that I was alone...And that's when I saw him.

Azazel.

Only it wasn't. Not really. I stared at the spectre; a somber, shirtless man with red skin and messy black hair, blinking profusely and I reached a hand out to the image…but my hand went right through him. It wasn't real. He stared down at me but he didn't seem to see me. He—like my hand—was surrounded by an aura of violet light; intangible.

_Could this be a projection of my memories?_ I had wondered. No,_ not **my** memories. I don't remember this at all! Then who's memories are these?_

As if things weren't confusing enough, the ghostly shadow of Emma Frost, my former mentor and friend, walked slowly over and put her blood-stained hand on Azazel's shoulder. _" 'Azazel, you must let her go now.' "_ She said to the unresponsive man. _" 'She's gone.' "_

"No, I'm not!" I said aloud without thinking. "I'm—right here…."

But he blinked and wordlessly consented, rising onto his knees and I too got up, awed and confused. I then made the mistake of looking down and saw a glowing river of what I soon realized to be blood. My blood. From where I…

Died.

I sank to my knees with a horrified cry, and shoved my hands in my hair as Emma led a subdued Azazel away. "No!" I cried out, reaching a hand for them to come back. I didn't want to be alone. "I'm not _dead_! I-I'm alive!" But they soon started to fade away like my hand; only instead of becoming more solid, they seemed to be fading out completely as was the pool of blood beneath me.

And then they were gone, as though they'd never been there in the first place.

"_I'm alive_!" I had screamed after them, and it was only then that I caught sight of _Her_ out of the corner of my eye.

I hadn't even noticed her run up, having heard my cries, and I looked at her, unable to speak as I took in her features: Tall, dark skin, African American features, statuesque figure, long, white hair…

She stared at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, her breath quickening like that of a terror-stricken rabbit.

"_Storm?"_ I asked disbelievingly and she gave a startled, "Oh!" Before bolting down the hall in the opposite direction. I could hear her distressed calls for the Professor both audibly and mentally.

"Wait!" I had called after her, struggling to my feet. I felt like I hadn't used them in months, but all of my memories were fresh in my mind as though I had just awakened from an extended nap. "Storm!"

_" 'I couldn't be Storm,' "_ I thought to myself. _" 'That woman looked my age! Older. The Storm I knew couldn't have been more than seven years old! Still a little girl. There's no way—' "_

I staggered up the elevator and leaned against the wall as it climbed up. Everything seemed just the way it was. It had to be. I could still remember what floor the Professor's study was, where the living room was, the kitchen...it was all so clear. _" 'That woman must be her mother. That's it!'_ " I reasoned with myself._ " 'There's just no way it could be her.' "_

However, when the elevator opened I could see the white-haired young woman bent forward at the Professor's side as he wheeled toward the elevator, stuttering profusely as she tried to explain her desperate state, "It is _Her_ Professor, I know it! She's still wearing the jumpsuit! It's _covered _in blood! You have to come—"

The woman gasped again, her hands flying to her mouth as though to keep from screaming and the Professor turned white as a sheet as I stepped out of the elevator. It closed behind me with a mechanical whirr.

He stared at me for a long while, his eyes locking with mine, and I stared back unblinkingly. I had noticed it the second I'd stepped out of the elevator but it only now had registered in my brain. Not only did the Professor look ten times older than last I saw him, but he was…

Bald.

Completely and totally, undeniably, light-reflectingly _BALD!_

"Professor," I whispered. "What happened to your hair?!"

"Ohh!" He exclaimed, clapping a hand to his mouth just like the woman next to him and she fell to her knees, trembling.

I shook my head vigorously, wondering what the bloody hell was going on. This wasn't the welcoming I had expected. "Well don't just stare at me!" I cried, becoming more and more unnerved by the second. "Say something!"

The Professor's jaw trembled and he licked his lips before saying in a shaky voice, "Storm, I want you go find the others and bring them here immediately."

The woman rose to her feet as if backing away from a crouched lion waiting to pounce, her eyes never leaving me, "Go, Storm." The Professor hissed, he too never ceasing his staring and she flinched, but obeyed; taking off at a jog, then a run, then a sprint and out of sight.

Becoming more and more distressed, I looked to the Professor pleadingly. "That's not Storm." I said bluntly. "Storm is a little girl. She's this tall—" I added, putting my hand level with my waist. "She tosses and turns in her sleep. And she controls the weather." I pointed down the direction the woman had fled, "That is _not_ Storm."

"Elizabeth," The Professor said in an eerily pacifistic voice, "I want you to remain calm until the others get here. This is a shock for all of us. But let's just wait for the others to arrive before we start…asking questions. Alright?"

I nodded vaguely and blinked and nodded again more confidently, "Alright."

And the others did arrive...but not as I remembered them.

Beast had gained a considerable amount of weight (in muscle it would seem) and his beastly features too had aged; only there was no longer that same look of anger that he always bore in his eyes, but a refined calm that now overtook him. Composure. Then there was Havok-

No. No, that's not Havok. That's _definitely _not Havok.

The young man before me wore red tinted sunglasses in spite of it being considerably dark in the mansion, and his hair was a dark brown, not golden blonde. His features were _similar_ to that of Havok but at the same time very different. He looked somewhat…younger. And stoic. Very stoic.

The only one who had remained nearly the same as I had left him was Logan.

I felt myself break into a relieved smile as I regarded him. "Logan! Finally, a familiar face!" I gasped breathlessly and took a stumbling step towards him. Several people took instinctive steps back but I couldn't have cared less at that moment. "I knew I wasn't…" But his gaze was not that same, indifferent one like he'd had the first time I met him in Tilly's apartment after he'd rescued me from the ice in Canada.

No.

He, like all the rest, stared at me as though he were seeing a ghost. He was a lot less…hairy, too. In fact, he gave a tame appearance all around; no longer the scraggly, rude man I'd met not too long ago. His farel eyes were tired, no longer wild and angry like Beast. He looked as though he had aged twice his years. And for me-

That felt like the last straw.

I began to hyperventilate. "What's going on here?" I whimpered. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

When I received no reply I grew angry, "Where is everyone!? Where is the Alex? And Tabitha and Dimitri and Emma? Why do you keep calling her Storm," I gestured to the white-haired woman who had taken cover behind Logan, grasping his arm fearfully. "_And where is the Professor's hairline_?!" I looked around and, when I received no reply, slowly sank to my knees in despair, clutching my arms as I whispered, "Where is Azazel?"

For a moment, I just stayed there, shivering as I tried to process what my mind and my eyes were telling me.

Then a hand rested on my shoulder.

I looked up and found myself face-to-face with a red-haired stranger who I hadn't seen. She had green eyes and a beautiful face. And an equally beautiful voice as she reached out to me telepathically and said, " 'You have been asleep for a very long time. But now it's time for you to wake up.' "

"Come," She said audibly, taking my hand and pulling me up. "It's time we all got to the bottom of this."

* * *

"This doesn't make any sense," I say as I sit, surrounded by strangers, all staring at me; some in disbelief, others in complete and utter confusion. We've spent about an hour after my little episode, during which the Professor had attempted to calm me down and explain the situation. And doing a terrible job of it. I'm still trying to process it as we speak, and I'm having a hard time paying attention.

"Yeah, Professor," Says the Havok look alike in a stiff voice. "How can someone…die, and then come back to life _seventeen_ _years_ later?"

I give a moan and shake my head in my hands as the words ring in my ears over and over again.

Seventeen years…

"Perhaps we should start from the beginning," The Professor says uneasily, looking to me, but I just fold my hands in front of my mouth and stare forward, my leg shaking uncontrollably. He sighs and runs a hand over his bald head, as though forgetting his hair no longer exists there. "Alright, I shall start from the beginning..."

He tells the tale from his point of view, explaining how they had rescue myself and my friends along with Magneto and his gang from Sabretooth that day in the woods. We had been searching for a supposedly lost boy, but had been deceived. What they really wanted was my friend Tarina, a Mutant Seeker. Creed kidnapped Tarina and nearly killed me (for the first time).

Then the Professor told how it had all escalated from there. How the X-Men had, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to help us save our friends. The break into the Island where Stryker laid waiting for us to fall into his clutches, the high risk escape with Remy LaBeaux and the other Mutant prisoners, the regroup and final assault on the Island…

The attack back at the Mansion, when we thought all was safe.

My death.

And then he turns to me, but I can hardly look at him as Storms' begins to sob uncontrollably. She still blames my death on herself it would seem but she was just a kid at the time. There wasn't anything she could do; at least, that's what I wanted to tell her as she fled the room. But I couldn't.

I've been frozen in a state of shock and I can only stare ahead as the Professor says bluntly, "You were gone, Elizabeth. Do you remember what happened after that?"

I shake my head, "All I remember is fading out and then…nothing. It was like I was asleep. And then I just…woke up." I meet his eyes for the first time since following him and the others into the study. "Professor, please tell me it's not true."

"I wish I could," Is all the Professor says, looking as though he truly regrets having to drill this into my head. "But seventeen long years have gone by since your "passing." I have aged. As have Storm and many of the others you once knew."

I chew on my lip and then ask the hard question, "Where are they now?"

"Azazel left a long time ago." Replies the Professor right off the bat, stabbing me in the heart and I feel the ghost of a pang in my abdomen as he says, "He had to move on, just as we all did. We lost contact with him soon after and…haven't heard from him since."

I remain silent and he continues, "Donovan and Alex—Scotts' brother," He gestures to the sunglasses-at-night guy beside him who gives a curt nod. "Moved away together to pursue their careers. As far as we are aware, they are still living in Sydney as we speak."

I nod at that, feeling a small ray of happiness peak through the gloom in my mind.

"Tabitha and Dimitri still attend school here in New York, not too far away from their parents," He notices my slightly confused look. I had assumed they were orphans or something. "Doug and Tilly got married and adopted them." He says a little too vaguely and I feel my stomach twist again. So much I've missed. So much I can never reclaim…

"They visit the Institute often. In fact, both Tabitha and Dimitri were to stay here for the week during the holidays." Again I feel my heart lift a little. "Emma too has moved on. I believe she is currently running her own school for gifted youngsters herself, though the location is a well-guarded secret; for the protection of her students of course." He adds and I continue to nod as though I've become a mechanical being, stuck on repeat.

But when he doesn't continue I look up, ceasing all other movement, and try to meet his diverted eye, "What about Glenn? And Angel?" I ask, referring to my old friends from the days in which we all lived together with Magneto and his band of Mutants.

But he doesn't answer me and I look around the room. A hush has fallen over it.

I look over at the red-haired girl, named Jean, who is the only one who will meet my eye, "He works for Sinister."

"Sinister?" I repeat, glancing around once more. "Who's—who's Sinister?"

"You know him…" The Professor struggles to get the words out, trying to gage my emotions but I've blocked him off from accessing my mind. It's safer that way. "As Nathaniel Essex."

"Essex?" I whisper hollowly. That...psychopathic scientist who tried to experiment on me? The man who destroyed everything I loved about Glenn, my best friend, and turned him against me? And Glenn_ works_ for the man? How is that even possible?

"Do you remember—?" The Professor begins and I snap at him, my eyes unintentionally glowing with a bright purple haze that I can control most times, "Of course I remember him! I remember it like it was yesterday!"

"Calm down, kid," Logan says, raising his hands up and down as if trying to pacify a wild horse that's become too unruly. I shoot a glare at him as he approaches, angry and hurt that he of all people has the audacity to try and calm me. What makes him think he has the right to tell me to calm down?! "This is a lot to take in, Charles." Logan tells the Professor. "Maybe we should let her get some sleep—"

"I'm _done_ sleeping," I say and stand up rapidly, making a few people jump. "I've slept for seventeen years! Remember?"

"I want to see Azazel." I say a bit abruptly and everyone exchanges glances. "I want to see him right now."

"Ms. Hawthorne, we've already told you, he's gone." The Professor says gently. "I haven't the slightest idea—"

"Oh, come on, Xavier!" I snap, ignoring the outraged look on Hav—Scott's face. "You have Cerebro, isn't that enough?"

He looks at me, then looks away.

Something clicks in my head and I smile spitefully, "You don't want me to see him." Now I'm pissed off. "You don't think I can _handle_ it."

"The way you're acting, darlin'," Logan steps up and tries to take my arm to sit me back down. "I don't think you can handle much else until you've thought this through for a while."

I laugh mirthlessly and yank my arm away, "You're right." I start to step away from the others, moving backwards towards the wall. "I _do_ need to think this through."

And with that I phase through the wall and into the yard, leaving them calling after me as I run off into the garden. Something is missing here. Something just doesn't make sense. It can't be real. But if it isn't-

Then what is?

* * *

More coming up soon! R&R to let me know what you think and whether I should continue or not. And again, I'll be exploring new ships (and old ones, too) so if anyone's got any suggestions plz lemme know!

~THESCRIBE!


	2. Chapter 2 Sins of the Father

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but my words! ENJOY;D**

Chapter 2: Sins of the Father

I step outside and see that the sun has only just begun to show. It looks little more than a sliver of light peering over the purple and pink horizon. There are still shadows where the light does not touch.

It must be early morning.

I start off into the garden, where the darkness swallows me up. I find it a bit comforting and I feel oddly calm. I keep on, treading carelessly on flowers and stone paths until I come to stop at a stone bench were a large, square slab of polished stone stands erect among a bed of white and yellow flowers. Roses I think. I sit down on the bench and stare at the stone slab a moment.

Wait.

Slab of polished stone? Like a head stone?

I get up, touching the stone lightly with my fingers and see that I'm right. It's a giant memorial, a bit shorter than I am but four times as wide with a list of names on them just below the words, "In Memories May the Fallen Live On."

I stare at the names a moment and notice, with a shiver, that at the very end is, "and all the lost souls who remain to be found…."

"This is insane." I say aloud as I stare at the words searching for one in particular.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice another, much smaller stone. This one is definitely a head stone; the perfect size for a grave. But it's not the only one. The one beside it is roughly the same size and shape, but before it, unlike the first…

Lays a single, red rose.

I reach for it slowly, trying to make out the words etched on the mossy head stone, but I jump and fall back with a gasp when a Bamfing sound goes off a ways behind me and I'm engulfed in a cloud of smoke. I turn around, still on the ground and I feel my very spirit lift when my eyes find a tall figure standing amongst the smoke, a sharp-tipped tail curling and uncurling around him as his sits perched on the park bench I had just been sitting on. Could it be?

I stand up shakily and lean against the memorial for support as I bring a hand to my mouth, ready to burst into tears of joy—

Then it speaks.

"Are you alright, froilein?" The shadow says in a raspy, youthful voice and my face falls as I move closer. That doesn't sound right at all.

"Step out into the light." I say but my voice is so soft and tremulous that I almost think he doesn't hear me, until he steps of the bench and pads toward me with oddly shaped feet. I can tell just from his silhouette that he's very thin. But I tell myself it's just the shadows. It has to be the shadows. What else could it be?

He steps into the fast approaching sun light.

My face contorts involuntarily and I clasp both hands to my mouth as my jaw drops and a wave of grief and disbelief and anger and confusion and hate and sadness and utter horror all washes over me at once.

It's not Azazel.

But it is.

His features mirror that of Azazels'; the lips, the chin, the forehead, the hair, the tail…but his eyes are unlike anything I've ever seen. Almost completely white, even in the irises. I wonder briefly if he's blind. And he's far more slender, his features soft, and not at all like Azazel's sharp cheek bones and angular body structure. And those legs. So alien…

But it's not only his legs, countenance, and eyes that are different. It's his skin. It has a distinctly blue look to it, even in the odd light of the sunrise. A sort of indigo blue I think. Blue…

Blue like _Mystique,_ blue.

"What is your name?" I ask him breathlessly, lowering my hands from my face and he cracks a cheeky grin at me, relieved that I've broken the silence. For a second he looked hurt at my reaction, but now he seems all smiles. Something Azazel was not known for.

"My name is Kurt Wagner," He says in a distinctly German accent and I cock my head to the side, perplexed. "But my friend's sometimes call me Nightcrawler. It is like my nickname!"

"Oh," I say faintly. That doesn't make sense at all.

"Vhat's your name?" He asks with a cute little smile, and I manage to get out a breathy, "Elizabeth."

"And—" I say through a few deep breaths before he can give a response. "Your father? What is his name?"

He shakes his head sadly. "I never knew him. But I think I get my powers from him. Do you want to see?" He asks excitedly, crouching as he prepares to teleport, but I put out a hand and stop him, withdrawing my hand quickly when I feel fur on his shoulder, "No, please," I say urgently. "What about your mother? What is _her _name?"

A dark look suddenly crosses his features and he looks down, a shamed anger pinching his brow. "She is an awful woman. Her name is Mystique. She attacked us once, and didn't even tell me I was her son! She's Rogue's mother, too, sort of and that's how we found out she's our mother. You see, Rouge is…"

I tune out after that. The word Mother sounding like a gunshot in my ears each time he says it.

Mother. Mother. Mother.

_Mystique_ is his mother. If I can guess that right just by looking at his color (which isn't very reliable at all) then what about everything else? The Teleportation? The tail? It all points to Azazel.

I collapse on the ground, ignoring Kurts' startled exclamation, as the sound of approaching footsteps fill my ears, but I don't bother looking up until I hear someone say in a country twang, "Kurt! What's goin' on out here?"

I perk up almost immediately. "Tarina?" I ask excitedly, but when I look up it's definitely not Tarina. This girl is pale, almost as white as a sheet with shortly cropped brown hair and a single streak of white running down from the crown of her head to her jawline. She stops just short of Kurt as another girl runs up next to her.

"Like, what the heck is going on here?!" The girl asks in an incredibly obnoxious voice. "I was just about to get breakfast and everybody's, like, _yelling_ at each other in the Professor's study—" She notices me on the ground and asks in a friendly tone, "Oh, hello! Who are you?"

"I—I'm…" I stutter and stop. And for whatever reason, I can't bring myself to answer the question.

"She said her name is Elizabeth." Kurt explains on my behalf.

"She don't look right," The pale girl says, peering down at me, but not touching me. "We should take her to the Professor—"

"That won't be necessary," I suddenly find my voice once more. "I'm fine, really. I just need some time to think. Just—" I sigh, my hands in my hair. "Just some time to think…"

The three exchange glances, then Kurt shrugs and sits on the bench once more in that odd crouch of his and puts his elbows on his knees, his hands cradling his face. Three fingers….uuuuhhhhuhhh….

I look at him curiously and frown as the two girls sit down in the grass around me. "You guys don't have to—" I begin to say, but the pale girl shrugs like Kurt and says, "Eh, I was gonna ditch school anyway."

"Yeah, and the Professor and the others won't be done arguing for a while either," the obnoxious girl says with a girlish smile. Actually, she doesn't seem so bad once you get over that California-ish accent.

"I know your name," I say after a while, turning to Kurt. "But what about you two?"

"I'm Kitty!" The girl says, throwing up a peace sign for no reason. "Kitty Pryde. But they call me Shadowcat."

"Nice to meet you," I say, extending a hand to her and to Kurt as well. Then I turn to the pale girl with the streak in her hair, "And you are?"

"Rogue." She says but doesn't take my hand when I offer it. "No offense," She says quickly at my puzzled look. "But you wouldn't wanna touch me."

"Why-?"

"My Mutation," She explains. "I can't touch anybody or they…they get hurt."

"Oh," I say, and suddenly the weight of what she's saying hits me. The way she keeps her distance from me and from her own friends. That must be her life every day, twenty-four seven…."Oh."

"It's alright, I guess," Rogue reassures me at my distressed look. "You get used to it."

"Do you?" I ask without thinking, then realize how horrible it sounded and say, "God, I'm sorry! I…I've been…out of touch with people _myself _for the last…couple of years."

"Is is because of your Mutation, too?" Kurt asks and Rogue shoots him a dirty look. "Vhat?" He asks.

"Hm, yeah," I say after a moment of thought. "I guess it is." I stop and think about it a moment. Something clicks. "But then…"

Could the fact that I was "killed" outside of my physical body be what saved my life? I never _did_ astral project quite like anyone else. In fact, everything about my Mutation was unlike anything anyone had seen before according to Emma Frost, the Professor, Stryker, and even Nathaniel Essex. Maybe the reason I slept for so long was that my astral body was healing itself. But then, if that's true, the only thing keeping me alive IS my physical body. The question is:

Where is it?

I jump up and frantically look around, mind racing. "Dang it, Kurt!" Rogue snaps, blaming my jumpiness on his question. "Look what you did!"

"Vhat did **I** do?!" Kurt cries as everyone else stands up, too. "Like, lay off him Rogue! Not everyone is as sensitive about their Mutation as you are."

"What's that supposed ta'—hey, wait! Where are you going?" Rogue calls after me as I make a break for the mansion. I phase through the wall in a single leap, making the one they call Cyclops throw a hand to his glasses in alarm, a light shining behind the lenses as he begins to lift them.

"Scott, no!" Xavier calls and the teen lowers his hand with a scowl. Not a very friendly guy.

I ignore him and walk past the others, towards the Professor who seems to have aged even more since I fled. "There's something you're not telling me. Actually," I add as Kurt and Rogue teleport into the room followed by Kitty who phases through like I did. My eyes linger on Kurt over my shoulder. "There's a _few things_ you've neglected to tell me."

The Professor sighs when he sees Kurt and looks as though he were going to explain himself but I wave him off impatiently, "Never mind, you can fill me in later. I think my body is still out there somewhere. It could be what's kept me alive all this time."

"Yes," The Professor says thoughtfully. "I did consider the possibility…It would certainly answer quite a few questions."

"So I'm guessing you don't know where it is then." I say dejectedly.

"We do not," The Professor says firmly. "And there's no use in returning to the Island. There's little more than rubble and debris left."

"Of course," I murmur, though I still intend on seeing that for myself later. I make a mental note. "And?"

The Professor glances at Kurt, who stares back and forth between us, looking a bit lost. "Perhaps now would not be the time—"

"Yes, I understand. I kind of put that one together myself." I say irritably, fully aware of how bitchy I must sound, but in all fairness, I think I've earned that right. "There must be something else. Something I'm missing..."

"You don't seem to understand," Logan says harshly, a relief from the sympathetic tones of the Professor and the teens. "You're missing seventeen years of your life. I hate to tell you, but it's gonna take a lot longer than one night to fill you in." I shake my head slightly, my fists clenching at my sides. I have to know more! What am I supposed to do? Just shrug my shoulders like Kurt and Rogue, and sleep on it?

"But I can't just—" I start to protest desperately, but before I can come up with another barrage of questions something...odd happens. Logan approaches me, slowly, and, much to my surprise (and mild discomfort) he puts his arms around me; closing me in an inescapable embrace. My eyes widen and I glance around stiffly, perplexed, as he just holds me there, silently at first, and then says, "I know."

That's all he says, "I know." But it's somehow...enough.

I exhale and my rigid body eases as allow myself to rest my head against his shoulder. I'm not sure what's just happened, but, for a little while at least, I allow myself to not care. I close my eyes for a moment until I can pull it together, then I pull back and face the group. Most of the teenagers in the room look about as bewildered as one can get, but the Professor looks relieved to see that I've calmed...Only I'm not calm.

I'm still angry. But now isn't the time to freak out. I think I've done that enough for one night...or morning...

"I'm sorry," I say in a much more subdued tone. I can almost feel the bags deepening under my eyes. "I…it's good to see you all again. And it's nice to see some new faces, too." I add, smiling softly at Kitty, Kurt and Rogue. "It feels like it's only been a few hours since I've been gone. I—I think I'm just…going to need some time."

I turn toward the window. The sun has risen to full height in the morning sky and I feel the smile in the corner of my mouth lift a little, "Maybe I could…hang around for a bit." I say a bit nervously. "If that's alright with you, Professor."

The Professor nods, his fingers knitted before him, "I insist."

* * *

"The world has changed since you've been gone, Ms. Hawthorne." The Professor tells me. We're all seated around their little breakfast table, and I keep jumping and fidgeting anxiously as throws of students rush in and out of the kitchen, fighting over food and spilling bacon and orange juice this way and that; all the while leisurely using their mutant abilities.

It's making me nervous.

"Mutant support has begun growing but Mutant hate groups have increased tenfold. We now face even greater problems like the MRD."

"The MRD? Mutant hate groups?" I repeat and shake my head in my hands. "God. I mean, before people were scared but…I can't even imagine! Are the MRD a social group? Like a private resistance or something?"

"No, the MRD is supported by the government, and founded by Senator Kelly." Logan says, inhaling his coffee mug in one gulp. I feel myself blush as I watch him, remembering the embrace, and I have to admit, he's gotten a lot…softer since the last time I saw him. Being a teacher must've really changed him. He used to be so rough. Almost like his brother.

I wonder if he's still—

"Big Anti-Mutant advocate." Logan adds, mistaking my ponderous look for confusion. I straighten up, "Oh, yeah. Hm, he sounds like trouble." I say, ignoring Nightcrawler, who I just notice has been staring at me this entire time. He looks away a little too quickly, pretending to be preoccupied by something on the ceiling. Smooth. "And what are the X-Men doing about all this?"

"Better yet," I look to the Professor darkly. "What is Erik doing about it?"

For a moment, a ringing silence amidst the din of clamoring students in my only reply and I wonder if Erik is still-well, alive. Then Logan laughs aloud and elbows me playfully (so weird…), "The Kid's still as sharp as ever!"

I smirk in spite of myself. "Please," I say. "I was clueless than as I am now. But seriously, if anything I would have thought Erik would be after this guy already!"

"…Yes," The Professor says hesitantly. "I must confess, that is something I've been meaning to speak with all of you about."

"What do you mean, Professor?" Storm asks at last, having been sitting, quietly observing me, up until now. God, she's grown so much.

"I believe Magneto may be working_ with_ Senator Kelly."

"What?!"

"That's insane!"

"No way…"

"Are you sure, Professor?"

"Why the hell'd he do that?" Logan says over the exclamations of the others. "Magneto ain't one to ally himself with Humans."

"Unless he has something to gain from it." I say dully and take a sip of my coffee, ignoring the looks I get. Especially the ones from those who remain convinced that I'm actually a ghost.

"My thoughts exactly," The Professor leans forward excitedly. "The question is, what could Magneto possibly gain from aligning himself with Senator Kelly? And Kelly with Magneto? That is what we must find out."

"A mission, Professor?" Scott asks beside Jean. The two haven't left each other's side since I got here.

"Precisely," The Professor says unenthusiastically, as though he doesn't quite like the idea.

"D'you think that's...?" I begin in a low voice. I was going to say, " 'Do you think that's a good idea. They're just kids after all…' " But then I realized I didn't really have the right to say that.

"Never mind," I say. "What's the plan, then?"

"Perhaps we shouldn't be too hasty, Charles," Beast interjects and even though he's not looking at me I know who he's talking about. I can't help but marvel at how much he's changed. They all have.

It makes my head heart and my stomach ache.

"You kiddin', Hank?" Logan says, putting an arm across my shoulders. When did he become so touchy?!

"If there's anything I know, a mission is the perfect welcome home party! Besides," Logan says, gripping my upper arm and grinning down at me. He smells a lot better, too. "I'm sure Old Metal Head would be interested to see his old recruit again."

* * *

Thanks for reading! More to come soon! Reviews, requests, and rates (I needed another "R" word) are welcome. Stay tuned to meet the new and improved MAGNETO!

~THESCRIBE!;D


	3. Chapter 3 Memories

**_Woah! Large chapter coming up! As it says in the description somewhere, this is a cross over of the entire X-Men universe as a whole. Much of my plot line is going to be set in the Wolverine and the Xmen as well as the Xmen: Evolution setting. I couldn't pick one so I decided, why not both? Anyway, I own nothing but my words, you know the drill thanks and enjoy;D_**

Chapter 3: Memories

" 'Professor?' " I reach out mentally once inside the X-Jet, which I am told is now called the Blackbird. It's changed considerably since last I was here. In fact, I don't even think it's the same transport anymore; sleeker, stealthier, roomier... But the jet's not the only thing.

These X-Men suits are much better than the old model I once wore; much more black and less yellow. Mystique's suit (which I saw Kurt pluck from the trash earlier when he found out it was once his mother's) was far too gaudy and allowed minimal movement. This one is sleek and stylish, feeling (but not looking) more like tights than fiber glass.

" 'Yes, Ms. Elizabeth?' "

I hesitate, " 'I hate to ask, but…"

" 'You want to know "What's up with Logan?"' " He replies, glancing at me from across the aisle with a friendly smile. " 'I know, your face said it all this morning.' "

" 'It's not that I have a problem or anything!' "I respond quickly, furrowing my eye brows as I glance at Logan who's manually flying the Jet just ahead. " 'It's just…strange.' " I continue to stare at Logan as I say, "He was always so detached to me, back then. Like a lone wolf. I never thought he'd be so…friendly. He's really changed...' "

" 'That's what happens when you're a part of a team,' " The Professor says pointedly. " 'You change.' "

" 'For them.' " I say numbly, looking to Kurt and Scott, Jean and Rogue, Kitty and Bobby..." 'He changed for them, didn't he?' "

The Professor responds with something I've never shared before…Memories.

"Ohhh…" I say out loud as a barrage of images simultaneously pour into my head; all of which involve Logan and the kids on missions where he would wrestle around with Scott and Bobby and Kurt (who he calls the "elf"), during training sessions in which he'd tease Kitty when she couldn't keep up with the others ("Don't sweat it, half-pint…"), comforting Rogue during one of her many slumps.

One memory stuck out to me in particular. One where an even younger looking Scott was obviously struggling with something, and Logan was there. Talking to him. I, like the Professor at the time, can't hear what was being said but…

The way Logan sat and listened to Scott. The way he gripped his shoulder firmly and spoke to him. Like a father The small, sad smile that spread across Scotts face before he got up and left for bed. And finally, the way Logan smiled to himself (completely unaware of Xavier's' presence) at knowing that he'd helped at least one kid when no one else could.

As if sensing my staring, Logan turns his head slightly and offers a smirk, which I return warmly, no longer unnerved by his change in demeanor.

" 'Thank you, Professor.' " I say mentally, but I want to know more. I want to experience more. " 'D'you think you could...?' "

" 'Memories are made, Ms. Hawthorne,' " The Professor responds philosophically. " 'Not shared. Perhaps you can make your own here with us.' " The Professor responds, then says, after noticing my disappointed look, " 'But until then…' "

I sit back and close my eyes as the best memories, the fun memories, and even some of the bad memories flash in the corners of my mind. Like a movie, only with much better color…

By the time we arrive at Senator Kelly's office (which didn't took maybe five minutes) my thoughts are chalked full of the memories of events I'd never been present for. And I was dying to see more.

But I realize that the Professor had been right.

I can't learn about these people through mere memories. I need to talk to them. Get to know them. And I think now would be a good time to start. A few of us wait in the lobby including Kurt, who dons the disguise of a normal human being with the help of an odd, watch-like device, (reminding me disturbingly of Azazel, who had done the same sort of thing to visit me in the hospital after my first run-in with Sabretooth ended in disaster).

There is also Scott, Rogue and Jean as well as Logan who were told to stay in the lobby while the Professor and Storm went ahead to talk to Kelly. Hank volunteered to stay with the Jet along with Bobby and Kitty, who were made to sit this one out.

I stand apart awkwardly from the others, trying to find a way to speak to one of them, when I notice someone has joined me.

Rogue.

"Can't stand to be around them," Rogue says, unprompted, and I look in the direction she's talking about. Logan is busy arguing with the lady at the front desk who is threatening to kick us out, and Cyclops and Jean are deep in conversation, standing very close to one another as always.

"Love birds?" I ask and she nods, looking away with a slight blush. "The only ones who don't know it are them." She says sullenly.

I study her a moment, then turn my gaze forward and say nonchalantly, "He's pretty good-looking. For a high schooler, anyway." I add quickly when she glances at me quickly. I guess technically I'd be in my thirties by now. Thirty-Seven to be exact.

Creepy.

"Yeah, I guess…" She mumbles, shuffling a bit.

"How long have you liked him?"

She looks up at me sharply again, challengingly, and I shrug, "Forget it, I could be wrong."

A silence passes over us and I curse inwardly, sure I just messed up my chance of making friends with this girl who (according to the Professor's memories) is pretty messed up, when she says softly, "He was the first one…" She hesitated, "To _try _with me."

I look at her and give her my full attention, tilting my head to the side to urge her on. She inhales deeply and says, "All my life, people have just…given up on me. My foster mom…my real mom…" She looks away and I do, too, feeling a familiar pang in my abdomen and my hand goes to it automatically. I can almost feel the blade.

I hope that doesn't become a regular sensation.

"Even people I thought were my friends would just drift away." Rogue continues. "They couldn't touch me and I didn't want to talk to them because they didn't understand."

Then her eyes lift and fall on Scott who currently has a grip on Logan's forearm in an attempt to keep him from lunging at the receptionist who flees her desk in terror. Guess he's not as levelheaded as I thought! Maybe it's just around the kids. Kurt stands by awkwardly as Jean catches up to the receptionist and begins to calm her down using her telepathy. I hope it'll be enough to keep the police—or worse, the MRD—off our backs until the Professor comes back.

We still have to see Magneto.

"He did." She says and I can see a small tear welling in her eye. She hastily wipes it away, "Forget it, it's dumb. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"No, I guess not." I say and she looks at me in surprise. "But," I continue, speaking slowly to form my words as best I can. "I do remember…the feeling," I hesitate, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. "of having someone reach down when you couldn't possibly be any lower," I say and as I do, the image of a scarlet hand reaching down to me as I sat on a bank, waiting to be flown to Westchester flashed in my mind.

"And lift you up, without caring about who you are or what you've done." Then a face, and the bluest eyes I've ever seen surface in my mind's eye. Someone pulling me to my feet. "Someone who just understands that it's _not_ okay. And is _okay_ with that." I add with a laugh.

"That's all you can ever ask for, isn't it?" I say and find myself studying Logan again, who pats Scott roughly on the back, nearly knocking him over and saying, "Yer grip's getting better, kid! That new training exercise must be gettin' too easy for ya'!"

"N-no, no!" Scott says hurriedly, a hand at his back. "It's hard! Really challenging! Mm, hm…"

I smirk to myself and turn back to Rogue, who stares at me as if seeing me for the first time.

I think I've made a break through.

The Professor returns quite suddenly along with Storm who looks slightly paranoid. "It's time to leave," Xavier says, wheeling past us and I exchange a glance with Rogue before following her out, the others hot on our tail. The Jet lands in front of us, much to the surprise of the civilians in the area, and we leave just as a cop car pulls up along with an army green, armoured van.

"So what's the damage, Chuck?" Logan asks once we're inside. The Professor seems deep in thought, his fingers at his temples, then he looks up and says, "We must go to Genosha."

"Genosha?" I ask. I've never heard of that before.

"Yes," The Professor says, "When he realized he could not control all of humanity, Erik formed his own Nation to rule, called Genosha."

Not what I expected, but okay…

"It is meant as a refuge for Mutants to live separately from Humans." The Professor adds almost defensively. "A Mutant Nation."

"A Mutant Nation, or Mutant Army?" I counter.

"My thoughts exactly," Logan quips, his arms folded.

"I—believe that Erik has the best intentions in mind—"

Logan and a few others give a collective, "humph!" And it takes everything in my power not to do the same. It's obvious Erik doesn't really care about other Mutants. Just about his own self-righteous crusade against Humans. Why can't the Professor see that?

" '_And what?' "_A little voice in my head says . _" 'Hate Erik like you did Glenn?' "_

I shut my eyes a moment, clearing my thoughts, and when I open my eyes again, I find myself meeting Logan's eye for what feels like the tenth time since this morning. I blink and turn back to the Professor as he says, "I would like to get his side before making any assumptions. I believe that if we go to him _peacefully _we may get to the bottom of this."

"I'm in," Scott says.

"Me, too."

"Same here."

"Yeah, I guess…"

"I vanna go to Genosha!"

The Professor looks to me, "I'm with you," I say resolutely. "I've got a few questions to ask myself."

We arrive in what might be the most obvious way possible to avoid an unnecessary open fire. We fly slowly so as not to cause panic, the Jet in full view, and I clutch the seats as I gaze down at the haven below. It looks incredible. Like the ancient cities of Rome. It really is a beautiful place. Many Mutants look to us curiously. A little boy with fishy scales for skin waves and I wave back absentmindedly as we fly by.

We land at what looks like a palace but no welcoming committee greets us. The establishment beyond appears to be deserted.

"He wants us to find him," The Professor says, his voice echoing in the halls.

"And let me guess," Rogue pipes up. "We're gonna go look for him?"

"Split up into teams." Logan says right off. "We'll go in two's."

"Mind if I go with you?" Rogue asks sheepishly as everyone else start to team up.

I smile a bit, then notice Logan studying me once again. Then he smirks and walks over to Hank, saying, "Looks like it's you an' me, Hank."

The Professor has already paired up with Storm, Kurt with Kitty, and Jean with Cyclops. Perfect.

"Let's do it!" I say enthusiastically, in spite of my worries about seeing Erik again. I barely knew the man after I agreed to join his cause, but he'd made sure to give me every reason to hate him since then. But it's not just him I'm looking for.

We wander off in different directions, phasing into empty room after empty room until I finally stop, realizing how much noise my boots have been making. I look down and touch the floor, Rogue peering over my shoulder. Metal. I look up at the ceiling which has a gray tint to it. Metal too, no doubt. "Of course," I murmur. It's actually a pretty clever move on his part.

He's gotten smarter.

We phase through a large, handless door into (what else?) another empty room. It's dark and eerie-even more so than the previous room. And, despite the place being huge enough to comfortably house the entire population of Genosha, there is no one here. It's completely devoid of life. Seemingly.

Rogue saw it coming first.

But all she could do was point, a look of shock frozen on her face as a slab of metal in the shape of a vice clamped down around her, slamming her to the ground, and then it whiplashed up and dragged her, at an alarming speed, straight toward the wall. "No!" cried, but instead of smearing her against the wall like I feared, the vice began to meld_ into_ the wall, taking a writhing Rogue with it.

In the next instance, she was gone.

I chased after it, sprinting through the wall desperately. "Elizabeth!" I could hear her calling, but I couldn't see her any more. She had disappeared.

"Rogue?" I call out, my voice echoing in the large, cavernous room, turning in a circle before calling even louder, _"Eriiiik!"_

Without warning, the floor drops out from under me, sending me plummeting into the dark. My stomach pitfalls as I reach up in a desperate attempt to cling to the floor but it slips from my grasp and then I'm free falling. Then something catches me around the waist a moment later, knocking the wind out of me, and slowly lowers me down.

I reopen my eyes—unaware that I had even closed them—and find that I'm not alone.

Everyone has already been detained.

Logan's been pinned to the wall along with Hank, Cyclops, Rogue and most of the others with the exception of the Professor, who has yet to arrive it would seem, and Kitty, who hangs suspended by a single tile over a bottomless gorge in the floor. Kurt has been knocked unconscious but it looks like he's breathing.

The metal around my stomach lowers me down and tilts my body up so I'm facing at a somewhat upright angle, which feels more painful than the former, horizontal position. I gasp and, with some difficulty manage push myself up using my hands, the metal biting into my abdomen, and I find myself face to face with a handsome, older gentlemen with white hair and an odd, red and purple get up; including a cape and helmet to match. He hovers above the ground on a metal slab, his hands clasped eloquently behind his back.

His eyes have an eerie white glow to them.

"Erik?" I whisper uncertainly. I couldn't possibly…He looks so old! Good, I'll admit, but old! Then again, so does Xavier—

"How do you know my name, child?" Erik asks, his voice sounding even classier than when he was still a fairly young man, only now he is much more refined; bearing a strangely calm aura about him. But I can tell just by looking into those eyes that he's still as deadly as ever, if not more. "And don't lie to me." He smirks, taking hold of my chin in his gloved hand. "I do so hate liars."

"You really don't recognize me, do you?" I ask in surprise, ignoring the way his fingers dig into my jaw. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Even after you recruited us, you kept your distance. Was it the guilt at knowing you had _tricked_ us into joining you that kept you away? _Or did you just not give a damn one way or the other_?" I ask viciously, my eyes glowing a violet light and his own glowing eyes, along with his smirk, fade in a matter of seconds.

"I—I don't believe it!" He gasps, his voice suddenly sounding far more like his age than before. He withdraws his hand as if burned and the metal vice around me loosens and I fall out of his trap, nearly landing on my face, but I manage to catch myself before hitting the metal ground. There is a sharp pain on my left ankle where it took the brunt of the fall but I can tell it's not sprained.

"Believe it," I snap, getting to my feet as the others look on helplessly. "I used to think it would be hard—running from your past. I guess it's easier for some than others." I say fiercely as I advance on him and, to my slight amusement, he starts to move back, a look of horror frozen on his face, and for a moment I feel a sense of empowerment.

Then suddenly, he stops.

"How?" He demands, holding his ground and I come to a stop, too. His sharp, blue eyes (darker in his advanced age) stare at me in an accusatory glare, "You were dead. I know it. How are you still alive?"

"As soon as I find my body, I'll let you know." I say and fold my arms, "I guess I can rule you out as a likely suspect, then."

"What do you…" He beings and then a smile creeps over his face and I realize I probably should have shut up. I don't need him knowing my weaknesses. Or my strengths.

"Your body…You died outside of your physical body, didn't you?" He asks, and I feel my face pale. Damn. "I never had the heart to ask Charles myself but I always wondered…" He chuckles suddenly, a disconcerting sound, and now he's the one to start advancing on me. Only I hold my ground, even when his frame comes to stand a mere foot or so away. He towers over me.

"So where is it then, my dear?" Magneto asks, reaching out and grasping a lock of my hair inquiringly. "_Where is your body now?"_ He asks slowly, mockingly.

I grit my teeth, then look away in defeat, unable to come up with a witty comeback or a response at all. I have no idea where my body is. Or why it's gone. Or why I'm still alive. I just don't know…

"Leave her alone!" Rogue cries out in distress, having seen the look of despair on my face and she kicks out at the metal barb that holds her in place by her wrists.

"Ah yes," Erik says, turning to face the others. "I forgot you brought company on your little crusade."

"Enough, Magneto!" Logan calls from the wall, where his arm holds Hank firmly in place beside him, his knuckles positioned beneath Beasts' jaw as his claws threaten to come out. I forgot his body is made of metal, making him an easily manipulated weapon for Magneto. "We didn't come here to pick a fight!"

"Didn't you?" Magneto counters, eyeing me out of the corner of his eye and I find I can't gage what he's thinking anymore. He seemed disturbed when he realized who I was, but now what? Is he guilty? _With that smirk, I don't think so. _Does he fear me? _Not likely. _Then what?

"The Professor will tell you!" Jean chimes in from her place the wall where she has been forced to face Cyclops, whose glasses have been removed. If he opens his eyes even a little... "We came to ask some questions."

"Questions? About what, I wonder?" Magneto asks smoothly.

" 'Let me in, and I shall tell you.' " The Professor's voice floats around the room. Magneto sighs, shaking his head, "Charles, you really should call first."

The wall opens to reveal a small room from which the Professor emerges, "I do wish you wouldn't be so quick to violence, old friend." Xavier says, turning to his students and teachers apologetically. "Please, release them, Erik."

"For an old friend—and former accomplice—" He turns to me with a wink and I narrow my eyes menacingly with a purple glow. Wordlessly, Erik waves a hand, and everyone is released. "This way," Magneto states bluntly, brushing past me.

I stare after his billowing cloak as the others start to follow.

I have no idea of what to make of this new Magneto. This new Erik. I can't tell for the life of me what this guy is thinking, whereas before his emotions were written all over his face; hostile, reckless, unsteady. It's unsettling, this—this levelheaded Magneto.

"What was he like?" Logan asks, appearing beside me. "When you knew him?"

I think a minute, "Emotional. Reckless. Unstable. Definitely not…like this." I say, lowering my voice as we begin to follow behind the others. "He seems so _in control_ now. Then again, I never was a good judge of character."

"Heh," Logan says, smirking deviously. "I'd like to see reckless Magneto."

"He—kind of reminds me of you." I say tentatively.

"Me?!" He stops in the hall. Rogue turns to look at us and I smile reassuringly and take hold of his enormous forearm, pulling him forward.

"Well, in a way. When I first met you, you were so…rough around the edges. You might still be now." I add quickly at his funny look. "To strangers maybe. But you're…different. Kinder. You know what matters."

He looks ahead, and I see his eyes linger on each teenager ahead in turn, probably thinking of some of those memories I glimpsed earlier. Then a small smile touches his thin lips, "Yeah, I guess I have changed, huh?"

"If you hadn't I'm not sure I'd be next to you right now!" I say in a joking tone, but even Logan senses the harsh truth behind it.

"I always…knew you didn't trust me."

"I trusted you," I only half-lie, my tone of voice totally betraying me and I fight to explain myself. "It's just that you reminded me of…"

"Of Magneto?"

I tense up. Does he still not know about Victor? About his half-brother? If not, there must be a good reason for it. I observe the Professor a moment, but he appears to be in deep conversation with Magneto at the front of the party, so I settle for a little half-truth, "Yeah, a little."

"Hm," Logan says as we follow Magneto into what looks like his study where the wall has parted for us, "At least I've changed, right?"

"Right." I say breathlessly, following him inside with a sense of dread as the wall sealed in behind us.

* * *

"So," Magneto says ponderously, staring out the window at the small nation below us. The lights of the city have begun to shine as the sun begins its descent into the ocean. Is the day passed already? "Kelly is far more weak-minded than I believed."

"I wanted to hear your side of this, Erik." The Professor replies, moving closer to his friend tentatively. "We must know what it is you're planning. The future of Mutants and Humans alike are at stake—"

"You dare chastise me on that which I already know?" Magneto snaps angrily, bawling his fist as he turns away from the window. The X-Men tense up, gearing for a fight, but the Professor waves them down, "I meant no disrespect, Erik. I only wanted—"

"To interrogate me?" Magneto interjects with a raised brow. "My affairs are none of your concern. Genosha operates separately from the Human government; although, I have visited and negotiated with Senator Kelly on numerous occasions—all in the interests of protecting my people, I assure you. I'd say I've been quite diplomatic on the matter, wouldn't you, Charles?"

"Just don't get in over your head, Magneto," Logan says, ignoring the scowl he receives from both Erik and Xavier. "You might think Kelly's got your back, but he'll be the first to turn you and your little civilization to ash the second he finds out how."

I stare at him along with the others. Intense much, Logan?

"Though he lacks tact," Xavier says pointedly, "Wolverine makes an excellent point, Erik," Xavier says in an attempt to diffuse the situation. "Senator Kelly cannot be trusted."

"Your warning, while touching, is unnecessary. I have the situation…_under control_," Erik adds, looking to me and Logan purposefully, smirking when Logan growls deep in his throat and I lightly touch his arm, tossing him a warning glance. He settles down, but continues to eye Erik, whose eyes meet mine as he says, "Now, if there's nothing _else_ you'd like to discuss…"

I blink, then look around at the group and say, "Could I—have a moment?" I turn my gaze back to Magneto. "Alone?"

"No wa—" Logan starts, stepping in front of me, but the Professor holds up a hand and nods to me, saying, "We'll be just outside." But before they exit the room, his voice says in my head, " 'Be careful what you ask. You may not like the answer.' "

* * *

**(Insert Billy Mays voice here) But wait! There's more! Stay tuned for the next installment of the New World. Until then, you stay classy!**

**~THESCRIBE!**


	4. Chapter 4 Revelations

**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, Wolverine and the Xmen, X-Men: Evolution or any of the many movie/comic adaptations. Thanks and Enjoy! ;D**

Chapter 4: Revelations

I watch the rest of the new X-Men disappear as the wall rights itself once more; locking them out, and sealing me in.

"I suppose I owe you a debt," Magneto says behind me, an unmistakably sarcastic tone in his voice. I bristle, wanting nothing more than to blast the guy through the wall.

"Don't do me any favors." I respond dismissively, turning to face him to see that he's removed his helmet. It's somewhat disarming; his features look more chiseled, refined and his white hair is nicely cropped and somewhat messy, giving it a light, boyish quality. I blink and continue, keeping my tone stern and focused, "I just want to know the truth."

"As do I," Erik says, his cocky smirk fading as he starts to move a little too close for my comfort. "I find your predicament to be very interesting. I'd like very much to know how you managed to remain so…" I recoil as his hand reaches for me. "_Young _during your absence."

"Take a few steps back," I snap, swatting his hand away. "Or neither of us will get the answers we're looking for." I warn and he perks an eye brow in amusement. Then he shakes his head and reaches out unexpectedly, his hand clamping around my throat, "You're in no position to make demands, my dear." He says, managing to keep his cool tone as his hand tightens and I reach my own hands up attempting to pry it away. I can't believe he's so strong.

What is he,_ fifty_ by now?

I weigh my options. I know if I attack, I'll never get the answers I'm looking for (and I'll probably get my ass handed to me while I'm at it). But maybe if I play to his ego, he'll sing just the right tune, "Please," I whisper somewhat painfully in what I hope sounds like desperation. "I-I just have to know—"

His eyes narrow in amusement (I don't think he fell for it), but releases his hold on me and I gasp accordingly, playing it up a bit as he turns his back to me. I glare daggers into the back of his head. He really thinks he's got me in a corner.

Maybe he does.

"First you will answer one of my questions, and then _perhaps _I'll answer one of yours." He says, glancing at me over his shoulder and I nod once, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. He turns to me, touching his fingers to his desk as he leans forward, "Where is your physical form?"

"I don't know." I answer evenly, then counter quickly with my own question. "Where is Mystique?"

He tilts his head knowingly, "Discovered your past loves' dirty little secret, I see."

"Just answer the question," I say quietly, tremulously, fighting to keep from screaming at him.

He takes his time answering me, touching a pamphlet on the desk and realigning it to match up with a book beside it, "Mystique is currently the head principal at Bayville High School. The same one your young friends currently attend, if I am not mistaken."

Mystique? Working at a High School?

"What is she—?" I start to ask quickly, a number of questions burning on my mind. "Ah ah," Erik cuts in before I can get the question out, wagging his finger back and forth tauntingly. "My turn."

I narrow my eyes, but remain silent until he asks, "Why are you still alive?"

My answer is immediate, "I—don't know."

"Oh, come now, Elizabeth." I shudder when he says my name. "That can't be it. I've given you honest answers so far, haven't I?"

I think a moment then say, "It has something to do with my astral body being apart from my physical form. It has to. It must have kept me alive in a comma or something. Maybe I only woke up because my astral body…finished healing."

I stop and think about this a moment. That _would_ make sense…"But then…someone had to be taking care of my physical body. There's no way I could make it for seventeen years on my own. I almost suffocated the first time I fell asleep apart from my body."

"I remember." Magneto consents, moving away from the desk, bearing a look of deep thought similar to my own.

"But who…?" I look up and realize I was about to waste my next question and glare at Magneto, who stands idly by, watching me expectantly.

"Right, my turn," I murmur, thinking hard. "Mystique is Kurts' mother. And Azazel…" I feel myself blush, my face heating unbearably and I turn away, embarrassed, before asking, "Where is he?"

"That I cannot answer," Erik says vaguely but upon my penetrating glare he says, "I never saw Azazel after your funeral. I knew of Mystique's betrayal long ago," He continues, his fists clenching at his sides but his face betrays little emotion. "But I never sought him out. I couldn't even if I wanted to. He's quite adept at wiping his trail."

I bite my lip and look away, trying to make the connections that I'm just not seeing here, and jump when I find Magneto has drifted closer to me, "What do you want to know?" I ask softly, all the questions that had plagued me on the way over escaping me.

"Only this," Magneto says, tilting my chin up with the crook of his finger and I'm startled by the intense way he gazes into my eyes as he says, "When you go to reclaim what is yours, I ask only that I be there with you."

"Why—?"

"And in exchange…" He interrupts, holding up a piece of paper: a ticket, "I understand you've lost more than seventeen years of your life. You've lost a home. A family. Half of a life you can never get back. Take this." He says, pushing it closer to me and I grasp it. But he doesn't let go. "And know that you are more than welcome here."

Live here? In Genosha?

I blink rapidly a few times, pushing away the thought of actually living here amongst my "own kind" as I come to my senses. I snatch the ticket from his hand, "You'd better start singing another tune, Erik." I whisper leaning in threateningly. My face is inches from his own and I bare my teeth as he smirks smugly in my face. "I've heard that one before."

I turn away toward the wall, ready to leave, then remember that it's still my turn to ask a question. So, I ask something that had been on my mind the entire trip over. "Did you ever care about us?"

He doesn't answer and instead just scrutinizes me, his mouth set in a thin line. Then, after a moment of tense silence, he waves his hand and the wall comes apart.

There's my answer.

The others look as if they were just about to bust through the wall and the Professor sighs with relief. Any moment later and it would have been utter chaos.

I walk through and Rogue is the first one on me, asking, "Are you alright?"

I look at her, then back at Erik who shakes hands with the Professor a ways off as though they were just two friends playing a peaceful game of chess, and I look back at her and respond with the first thing that pops into my head, "Peachy."

We head back to

the Blackbird, but just as I begin to climb up the ramp and a gloved hand grips my wrist and halts me, much to Wolverines displeasure, who had been waiting for the rest of us to climb in at the entrance of the ramp. Erik ignores him, still gripping my wrist, his eyes boring earnestly into mine, "Yes, I did." Is all he says before slipping something into my other hand.

Then he lets me go and steps off the ramp. I stare after him a moment before

_Logan _grabs my forearm and pulls me onto the Jet. I stare down out the window at Magneto, expressionless, until the Bird finally takes off and he's lost from my view.

Leaving me once again to wonder what's truth, and what is a lie.

* * *

"What's that?" Kitty asks as we start heading back for the Mansion. Before I can answer, a puff of smoke obscures my vision and I look over my shoulder to see Kurt clinging to the back of my seat. He reaches across me and snatches the pamphlet that Magneto had slipped me moments ago from my hand.

"A poster?" He says curiously, turning the pamphlet this way and that. "Oh, and there's a ticket inside!"

"Gimme that," Logan growls, snatching it from Kurts' hand. "What does this mean?" He asks, turning the Genosha pamphlet towards me. A list of numbers seems to have been scribbled hastily onto it, but I can't make sense of them. It doesn't seem to be a phone number or an address. Maybe it's code for something.

I shake my head, "I don't—I'm not sure."

"There doesn't seem to be a pattern," The Professor says. "3274743292." He repeats the numbers over and over. "Perhaps if I were to type it into Cerebro something might come up."

I stare down at the paper, which was passed back to me once it had circulated around the room. It looks like a pretty good piece of propaganda. With Magneto on the cover, gesturing to the glorious nation across the water, looking down right welcoming. And then that list…If Magneto took the time to scribble it down it must be important.

The pamphlet is pretty thick, with descriptions of all the activities and perks of living in Genosha inside each folded corner. It actually looks pretty nice.

"What did you guys do in there, anyway?" Kitty asks when she couldn't contain herself any longer. I blink, the question taking me by surprise, as Jean scolds her with a look, but everyone else looks at me, waiting for my answer.

"I…We—" I glance at the Professor a little too quickly. "I just had some questions. I've been away for a while. I just wanted to get an idea of what I'm dealing with." I add, breathing a sigh, relieved I managed to put that sentence together.

The last thing I need is for everyone to get involved in my little melodrama.

Luckily, the others leave me alone the rest of the trip, throwing around their own ideas about Genosha and what Magneto could be up to.

Some said the mini nation was incredible. Kurt especially liked the idea of being able to walk freely among other Mutants in the day. Others, like Scott, remained convinced that something wasn't quite up to snuff with the floating isle. The Professor maintains that there is more to this whole partnership than either Erik or Kelly is letting on. On that, most of us agree. Hank—the pacifist he's become—seems to want to give both men the benefit of the doubt.

We get to the mansion and most of the teens head off to change out of their X-Men uniforms as it's pretty late by the time we get back. I follow suit and allow myself to be lead to my (temporary) room, by Logan. We walk in silence but something seems to be bothering him.

Too mentally exhausted to ask him, however, I remain silent up until we get to my room, "Thanks, Logan," Is all I say and I step into my room and attempt to close the door. But (as I expected) he throws and arm out, pushing the door open as he says, "I've gotta ask you somethin'."

I cringe, "Logan, I'm really not in the mood for anymore questions—"

"Were you and Magneto involved?"

The question comes so unexpectedly that I open and close my mouth several times before exclaiming, "Invo—No! Logan," I lower my voice considerably as I pull him inside and close the door behind us. "You know I was with—with Kurts' father." I manage to spit out, figuring the more I get used to saying it the less it'll hurt in the long run.

"Yeah, well you and Magneto seemed pretty cozy with each other to me." He says crossing his arms and I stare at him, my head inclined forward in disbelief.

"We weren't—that doesn't even make sense!" I cry at last, flustered. Erik and I never had a thing. That was for sure. We hardly even spoke to each other after I joined his crew except when he was stabbing my back-figuratively. What makes Logan think we were…together? My head feels heavy and I press my fingers to my temples in frustration as I say, "And we're not _cozy _or involved. Now if you don't mind I could use some down time."

"You have no idea, do you?" Logan says, his voice sounding oddly far away and I blink a few times as a glowing light blurs my vision. "No idea about what, Logan?" I ask absently, closing my eyes and rubbing them profusely, trying to get rid of the blurriness that has invaded my senses, but when I open my eyes the glow is still there. Odd...

"…He hardly left this room after you were gone—" I hear Logan saying distantly, but his voice fades in and out. I blink once more, trying to hear him but it feels as though there's cotton wedged in my eardrum.

_This room?_ Is all I can register as the glow intensifies and spreads throughout the room. It's so bright. _Azazel stayed in this room?_

Then something else catches my eye; a rapid movement to my right and I whip around, my breath catching when I spot what looks like a shadow made of ultraviolet light (like the kind I can generate from my eyes) standing in the corner of my room near my bed.

"What's wrong?" I hear Logan say , his voice echoing in my head and I shake my head rapidly. What am I seeing?

Wait…"It's just like…when I woke up." I say numbly, but my voice too echoes; only it's not as distant as Logans' sounds to me.

What is going on here?

"What is? What are you seeing?" Logan asks, placing a hand on my shoulder but I move away and toward the figure as it becomes clearer. A memory. It must be...I can just make out its features. "Azazel…" I whisper, reaching out to the figure but I withdraw quickly when he suddenly turns his silhouetted head toward me.

And looks right through me.

I follow his gaze, again ignoring Logan's questions and see that another glowing individual has entered the room, silent as a ghost. "Professor," I murmur at the exact same time that Azazel says in a hollow voice, _" 'If you mean to change my mind, do not try. I am leaving. That is what you wanted, Da? For me to move on?' "_

His eyes look so empty, even in this odd light, that it hurts just to look at him.

I'm so busy studying his face, my hands coming up as though to touch it that I am startled when his eyes suddenly widen and he takes a step back, _" 'What are you doing here?!' "_

I whip around and I feel anger and panic well up inside me when I realize that a new figure stands in the Professor's place, "Mystique!"

"Where?" Logan snaps in the distance, looking around the room wildly. This must be driving him insane. I should have told the others about this a while ago, but I didn't think I'd be able to see these…projections _everywhere_ I went.

I thought it was one time sort of thing.

"It's a memory," I say numbly, watching as Mystique approaches Azazel with a determined look in her eye. She looks angry, sad, and resolute all at once, though she's clearly trying to hide it behind a sultry smirk. Tear stains mar her perfect, blue features. "I'm seeing…a fragment of a memory."

" '_Don't look so surprised."_ Mystique scowls, the purple aura that surrounds her blazing, making Azazel's aura looks pathetically dim in comparison. _" 'What? Aren't you happy to see me?'_ " She laughs cruelly. She seems odd to me. Off-balance.

Then I remember, "Magneto said something about a betrayal. Maybe this is what he meant." I look back and forth at the two mutants as Azazel says, _" 'What is it you want, Mystique?' "_

" '_Blunt, aren't we?' "_ Mystique responds, then she turns her gaze down, sounding a lot less confident than mere moments ago. _" 'I know you're hurting. So am I. I thought I could…' " _She hesitates at this and I stare her down, daring her to finish her sentence. " '_keep you company.' "_

She looks up then through a curtain of red hair which looks considerably longer than last I saw it and says almost childishly, _" 'Like you used to when Erik and I would fight.' " _

It's as if I've been slapped across the face.

_They've been together before,_ I realize. _They had a thing! How did I not see that?_

" '_Is that what this is?' "_ Azazel asks disbelievingly, his tired eyes training on her with a growing hostility. When she merely watches him, a look of determination mingled with vulnerability on her face, he lays a hand across his eyes, and for a moment says nothing. Whatever fight was in his eyes seems to just dissipate at that moment.

I watch him, praying he'll kick her out. Hoping he'll call for the Professor, attack her, throw her out the damn window, anything other than what happens next.

Her silhouette steps right through me, sending a horrid chill running down my spine, and I watch helplessly as she places a blue hand on his arm and gently pries his hand away from his face. He looks down at her almost unwillingly and I move around so I can see her face, too. There are sparkling tears in her eyes. I've never seen her look so helpless before. She means it.

She really is hurt.

"Don't—" I plead in a voice barely above a whisper, but it's no use. They can't hear me and no amount of pleading can stop the past as it plays out right in front of me as Azazel wipes Mystique's tears from her eyes, and I turn away just as Mystique leans in, a faint smile touching her lips when he doesn't resist…

I hurry past Wolverine, who's been watching me spazz out this entire time, but he grabs both my arms and holds me back, shouting, "What the hell is going on here?!"

"Let me go!" I cry. Desperate to get away.

I'm facing them.

The projection hasn't ended as quickly as when I first woke up, and I can see quite clearly the conception of the little blue teleporter just down the hall...I squeeze my eyes shut desperately and try to cover my ears but Logan shakes me, saying, "I've called the Professor. He'll be here in a second. Just calm down."

Too much noise.

I can't take it. "I shouldn't be seeing this…" I whisper hoarsely, the words barely coming out at all, and I phase through his hands and flee the room, running straight through the wall _and_ the Professor, who had just been about the enter the room.

"What—?" He starts to question me and I can feel his mind sweep across my own (my guard having dropped) and his voice falters, "Oh, my…" Is all he says.

I meet his eye through a watery lens, giving him an undeserved, accusatory glare, before phasing down through the floor to the only place that feels familiar in this labyrinth of broken memories and painful revelations.

* * *

**Fans of the first installment of this series are probably noticing a few variations in Liz's powers, which will be explained in later chapters, but that won't come till a bit later. Things will start to make sense soon enough! Until then, tell me what you guys think about these new possible ships. I'm trying to decide which one I'll make cannon. Thanks!**

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	5. Chapter 5 Traces

_**DISCLAIMER: IOWNNOTHINGBUTMYWORDSANDOC'STHANKYOUANDENJOY;D**_

Chapter 5: Traces

"You don't really think—"

"Vhat else could it mean? Didn't you hear them? Elizabeth knows my father! Zey were together!"

"What kinda "Together" are we talkin' about here, Kurt?"

"You know….together, together."

"I don't know, Kurt…maybe you just misheard—"

"I know vhat I heard. Think about it, Rogue! Mystique is your adopted mother. I look like Mystique a little and you don't at all! Maybe Elizabeth_ is_ your mother. Heck, maybe she's mine, too! I mean, anyone can turn out blue, right?"

"It would kinda make sense…" Chipped in a new voice.

"See?" Kurt cried enthusiastically. "Kitty believes me!"

"I didn't say that!" Kitty protested. "I mean, it seems kind of like a long shot to me. I mean, how d'you know your father and Rogue's are, like, the same, anyway? No offense."

"Wha would I be offended?" Rogue countered, examining her nails distractedly. "It ain't like I care. I just don' want Mystique to be my mom. Adopted or not."

"Me neither." Kurt admitted, drawing his knees to his chest. He hated the idea of such an awful woman being his mother. Mystique was always cold and cruel, attacking the X-Men with little to no regard to her supposed children. It would be more than a blessing if it turned out to be a falsehood. "It vould explain vhy she attacks us. Because ve're not her kids! Maybe it's all a lie to distract us!"

"Yeah, Rogue," Kitty chimed in, leaning on her elbows excitedly. "Maybe she knows you're the secret love child of her old flame and just wanted to be close to you!" Kitty sighed, a dreamy look in her eye. "Sooo romantic!"

"Yeah," Rogue said, sitting up. "Yeah! Mystique's always been manipulative. Maybe she just lied so we would trust her—"

"Or feel guilty about messing up her plans." Kitty interjected, reaching for the pink nail polish across the bed. She stared disdainfully at Rogue's black nails, but Rogue just rolled her eyes, "I'm gonna go find out." Rogue said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I hate not knowing."

But worse than that, Rogue hated the idea that her mother had abandoned her. She could live with Mystique being her mother. But the fact that she had left her as a baby…unwanted. That was worse than anything Mystique had ever done in her eyes.

And the thought that someone who actually _understood_ her might be her true mother…Someone who _had_ to leave her, not by choice, but by circumstance…someone who could fill the void left by her mother…Long shot or not, she had to know.

Rogue stood and so did Kitty and Kurt, who said, "Ve're going with you."

She didn't object.

* * *

"C'mon, Professor!" Kurt argued. "We've waited forever!"

"Ms. Hawthorne is in no condition to see you right now." The Professor explained. "And besides, it's late!" He'd spent most of that afternoon attending to Elizabeth. It had taken him a while just to get her to open up and tell _him _what was going on. Even longer to get her to leave the infirmary where he'd found her sulking in_ the_ hallway.

Truth be told, he was curious to learn more about Ms. Hawthorne's new development in her mutation which (as far as he could gather) allowed her to experience events from the past as they were happening right before her eyes. Like the trace of a scent, as Logan put it. But it was clear that she was in no mood to try piecing it all together in one night. So he'd let it go.

"Please, Professor," Rogue said softly and when he looked in her eyes he felt his resolve weaken. She was so ready to believe the impossible. Xavier couldn't believe how willing both children were to renounce Mystique as their mother in favor for someone they'd only recently met.

Perhaps it would do them both good—to talk…

"I don't know…" The Professor said at last. "I'm not sure if she's ready—"

"Professor?" Came a weak voice from behind him. The door to his study had opened and there stood Elizabeth, her pallid face bearing a false smile as she gestured inside, "They can come in if they want. I think this is something we all need to get off our chests."

Relieved that the decision had been made for him, the Professor consented, and let the hopeful teens inside.

* * *

I sit opposite them, my hands folded in front of me as I study them each in turn. My tired eyes linger on Rogue. Her chest rises and falls rapidly and her eye brows knit as she says pleadingly, "Just tell me the truth…are you my mother?"

I pause for what feels like the appropriate amount of time before saying in as gentle a voice as I can, "No. Neither of you." I add, looking to Kurt who bows his head. "That much I am sure of."

Rogue bites her lip and looks away, her hair falling over her face and I get up and cross over to them both, "Hey…" I say, kneeling down in front of them and I wrap my arms around the both of them. I feel Rogue pull back a bit but I hold her tighter, "It's okay," I say reassuringly. My skin is no wear near hers as she wears a long sleeved shirt and I a high-necked sweater. "You're okay."

After a minute I pull back, kneeling on the floor before them as they each wipe tiny beads of tears from their eyes, avoiding looking at each other. They really believed...

"I knew your father—" My voice cracks and I struggle past the words, "A long time ago. But I am not your mother. And I know that I never can be." I add and have to pause to take a breath, to keep from breaking down myself, but I think the worst of it is past me. In fact, ever since my talk with the Professor about what had been seen...I've felt better. Like the weight of Azazel's betrayal has finally been lifted. "But—if you'll let me—I'd like very much to be a part of your lives."

"I just—" Rogue says, her voice shaking. "I just wanted—" She shakes her head and looks away again, her eyes wrinkling as she physically fights the tears attempting to leave her eyes. "Shhh," I say I come to sit between the both of them and put my arms across their shoulders, one hand stroking Kurt's head and the other grasping Rogue's clothed shoulder. "I know."

It feels so familiar and I suddenly remember doing the same for two small children (one with auburn hair the other with white hair and green eyes) in the cargo hold of a rocking ship. Only then, we were filthy and tired, and there was a monster sitting just across from us.

Waiting for the chance to strike.

I look up and a chill runs through me when I see Wolverine sitting in the chair across from us, and for a second my vision doubles, flashing between the cargo hold and the study, with Creed's face overshadowing Logans' and Dimitri's auburn hair beneath my hand; Tabitha sniffling beside me. This entire scenario mirrors that of what happened so long ago. Still fresh in my mind.

I blink several times and turn back to the blue skinned boy and the pale girl currently in my embrace, looking a bit like children themselves. "Listen," I say, removing my arms and they sit up and look at me expectantly. "Why don't we all go out somewhere tomorrow? It _is_ Friday, right?" I say, looking to Kitty who nods, having been sitting patiently on the floor.

"Great. Then maybe you all could show me around the town tomorrow. And Bobby, Jean and Scott can come, too." I add and smile when Rogue blushes at the mention of the sunglasses guy. "Let's just see how it feels—" I say, meeting the Professor's eye wearily. "To be friends."

* * *

I couldn't sleep.

I didn't want to sleep. I still don't want to sleep. Now that I think about it, the last time I'd stayed awake this long when we were on the run from Creed and Colonel Stryker. I had gotten maybe a few hours in on the ship before he woke me up with the intent of murdering all of the humans on board. We had escaped Stryker's Island together (a bad idea right from the get-go), taking along with us two children; Tabitha and Dimitri, much to Creed's distaste. I knew he'd betray us eventually, but so far the alliance had instilled in me a false sense of safety and even trust.

I'd dropped my guard.

That is until he tried to get me to help him kill those seamen who had (according to him) been plotting to attack us and turn us in to Stryker. I'd refused and tried to get him to stop, but it was clear he wasn't going to listen to me; so I sealed him inside a meat locker, taken the kids to shore (with the help of a seaman named Doug-Tabitha and Dimitri's new foster father) and set off in the forest to find the nearest town.

He'd caught up to us sooner than later and I nearly died then and there just trying to give the others a chance to get away. But I'd managed to send the homicidal Mutant off a waterfall. But it wasn't over there. The frozen forest that we had wondered into almost finished me off, but before I could succumb to hypothermia, Logan found me.

It was only then, after I'd passed out at his apartment, that I got any sleep. But even then, it was interrupted with a rude awakening by a much hairier, could-care-less Logan, who had then scared me to death due to his likeness to Victor Creed—

His half-brother.

And after all of that came my seventeen year sleep. (I guess you could say I have an odd sleeping schedule…)

So, instead of sleeping, I laid awake and thought. Long and hard about the day's events. About everything that had happened since my awakening, going over it like a list:

First, I woke up to discover that everything except for me has aged seventeen years into the future. Erik is a coolheaded master mind with his own private nation floating around in the ocean. Computers are now the size of notebooks. Azazel got it on with Mystique and had a kid (possibly two) because Mystique and Erik had a fight. Azazel is nowhere to be found. Mutant hate groups have risen in power over the last decade. My former best friend Glenn is working with Sinister, whom I'd known as Nathaniel Essex. Everyone is completely different from how I once remembered them, and I am the only one who mentally and physically hasn't changed a bit.

Mutation wise, however, I couldn't be more different.

Before I was merely alike to a Ghost; but now the similarities outweigh the contrasts. My powers ranged from plasma blasts, to forcefields, to phasing, turning invisible, a small degree of telepathy, levitation (though I never did quite master that), my glowy-glowy eye trick, and of course astral projection. And while these abilities can be a blessing, they can be difficult to maintain and use in a high risk situation. It requires in enormous amount of energy and concentration to do two or more of these things at once, and it is very easy to lose that concentration. Pain has always been my number one weakness (obviously), but while others can still function when in pain, I find it as my biggest handicap in a fight.

So what's new?

For one, I can now see the projections of memories that have been left behind, though to what extent I do not know. And my physical body—if I'm not mistaken—can prevent me from dying if I am killed in my astral body. At the cost of a seventeen year comma. Nice. Oh, and I have no idea where said physical body is or who has it or why they would take care to preserve it after _seventeen years_.

Is there a bright side to all of this?

I'm alive. And as far as I know, so are all of my friends. Even if one of them is a slightly deranged, lizard creature…

I miss Glenn.

I hold up the pamphlet given to me by Magneto in my hand, staring at his face on the front cover. It's him, alright. But he's definitely older, more confident than I once knew him to be. I wonder what the others will look like, now that they're in their thirties. Havok and Donovan together, Tabitha and Dimitri getting their educations...

I wonder what they're doing.

Are they awake, too? Are they thinking about me? Or did they give up on that a long time ago? I wonder if they have families. Dimitri and Tabitha do, but what about Donovan? Did he ever see his parents again?

And Glenn.

Poor Glenn. I'm not really surprised he came crawling back to Essex. I'm more surprised that Essex has become such a threat since last I saw him. I remember vividly his hawk-like eyes, his angular face and long, untidy hair. That grey skin. I didn't even think he'd made it off the Island. I wonder what he looks like now. I wonder what Glenn looks like.

I wonder what they'd say if they saw me again.

What would Azazel do if he saw me again? He probably wouldn't even care. It's been seventeen years. He's moved on, like the Professor said. And judging from what I just beared witness to in the room farthest from mine, I'd say he moved on fairly quickly.

He hadn't even left Westchester yet.

Does he even know he has a son? And is Rogue even his? Or Mystique's for that matter? My stomach twists just thinking that he might have had two children by that woman. And all in the span of a few months. Maybe a year. Not that's not right. Rogue is not Mystiques' biological daughter. That much the Professor could tell me. But there's no denying Kurt's lineage. I wonder how they would have felt if I _was_ their mother…

They seemed so hopeful at the time, but given a few weeks would they have felt differently?

I look at the Pamphlet again, tracing my fingers along the rim directly in the middle of the paper. It seems thicker here than anywhere else, and, to my mild confusion, I manage to slip my nail between a crevice in the paper. I frown and tear it open.

And money falls out.

"What?!" I cry audibly, sitting up rapidly in bed. I pause a moment, afraid I've woken someone up, but after a moment I deem it safe and return my attention to the bills lying on my bed. I have half a mind to storm back to Genosha right now and demand to know what this is all about. But that's not likely to happen any time soon. Genosha was a pretty long ride, even for a jet, and I'd rather not drag everyone along with me. It could be a trap.

I find myself looking at the code scrawled across the pamphlet.

What did the Professor say?

Something about typing that code into Cerebro: 3274743292.

I don't have access to Cerebro, but there is a computer in the living room.

I make my way there, walking barefooted to avoid any unnecessary noise. In a few minutes I'm on the keyboard, typing in the numbers. The advances we've made in the last seventeen years are incredible. It all looks like something right out of a science fiction novel. It's all so bright, so new, so futuristic. But everyone else treats it like it's whatever.

Pretty soon we'll be able to move things right on the screen!

I finish typing in the numbers, rubbing my bleary eyes as I look for the damn enter button in the search engine. What comes up is an address. A few addresses actually. None of them seem to catch my attention, however, as most of them are random people's apartments or gift shops.

"What did you want me to find?"I whisper, resting my face into my hands. I'm so tired…

A sharp beeping noise catches my attention and I look up to see the screen has gone black with a single, white line bleeping continuously.

I stare at it a moment, waiting for something to happen. After a while of nothing, I type: HELLO?

I don't really expect anything to happen but when the computer responds with: DIRECTIVE, I sit up a little straighter.

DIRECTIVE, I type back.

ACCESS DENIED

Oh, it's a password.

I retype the numbers, 3274743292.

ACCESS DENIED

I give an exasperated huff and slump back in my chair. I glance at the time in the right hand corner. It's four in the morning.

Time sure goes by when you're having fun!

Figuring I've got time to waste, I try typing in more random words. Thinking I might have over-thought the password thing, I try typing in: PASSWORD.

ACCESS DENIED

MAGNETO

ACCESS DENIED

LEHNSHERR

ACCESS DENIED

ERIK LEHNSHERR?

ACCESS DENIED

GENOSHA

ACCESS DENIED

ASDFKLFJIOEWKLREWJKLFDLSJARJQOWEQWERE

ACCESS DENIED

Finally growing too frustrated to continue, I start typing in random things, almost as if it were a diary. It's not like anyone was reading it anyway.

SOOO, WHAT'S UP?

ACCESS DENIED

YEAH, I FIGURED AS MUCH. YOU KNOW WHAT? I THINK THIS WHOLE PASS CODE THING IS A LOAD OF BS.

ACCESS DENIED

EXACTLY! ACCESS DENIED. WHAT WAS I EVEN SUPPOSED TO ACCESS? A BETTER QUESTION WOULD BE, WHY DID MAGNETO WANT ME TO FIND OUT?

ACCESS DENIED

AND WHY THE HELL DID HE MAKE THIS SO DAMN COMPLICATED IF HE WANTED ME TO FIND OUT?! I'M NOT EXACTLY UP TO DATE WITH THIS TECH!

ACCESS DENIED

I push away from the computer, shutting it off before lying on the floor, spread eagled and staring at the ceiling until the sun comes up.

* * *

**More chaps later! Thanks for reading and suffering through all the exposition. Thanks!**

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	6. Chapter 6 Cool

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words yadda yadda yadda...you get it.**

Chapter 6: Cool

"What the hell am I wearing?" I ask Rogue as I pluck at the holey shirt she's given me. The black material is remarkably soft and loose fitting, which "is the point" as Rogue tells me, but the cloth itself seems to be missing in a number of…odd places.

"It's cool!" Rogue says.

"Cool?" I repeat, sticking my finger in one of the holes on my shoulders. "Why not just make it a tank top if you're gonna cut the sleeves up?"

"It's like I said," Says Rogue nonchalantly, handing me a pair of ankle-high boots that were too small for her. I've always had tiny feet. They're actually pretty cute. "It's cool."

I slip the boots on and stand up, attempting to pull up my low rise, bell-bottom jeans. I sigh when I see my reflection in her full-length mirror and yank down the shirt at the sides where it's been pinched to expose my hips.

"Kinda revealing don't you think?" I ask, seeing as I'm not the thinnest girl in the world, but before I can get a witty retort from Rogue, Kitty pops in the room, her frilly pink skirt swaying behind her, "Ohmigosh! You look so cute!" She cries.

"Kitty, I'm thirty seven years old," I say, folding my arms even though the compliment makes me feel a bit more confident. "I shouldn't be looking 'cute.'"

"Sure, but you don't look a day over 20." Kitty retorts, making a point. "You can pull it off."

We head off to breakfast where I attack the coffee pot, my late night excursion still wearing down on me and I nearly drop my cup when Kurt bamfs right behind me, snaking his tail through a stack of donuts just waiting to be swiped. "Excuse me!" He calls post-theft, shoving an entire donut in his mouth; then he gets a good look at me and nearly chokes on the sugary dough when he suddenly realizes it's me.

"Errizabeff!" He sputters and spits out most of his donut when Logan smacks him on the back, having apparently just woken up himself. I barely miss being sprayed by a shower of pre-chewed calories. "Nice," I say, glaring at them both.

"How many times have I told you not to eat it all at once—?" Logan stops his criticism when he sees me and I yank at the shirt again with a slight blush, saying, "Kids, huh?"

"Yeah," Logan says in an odd voice and I raise my eye brows before shaking my head, the curls Jean did for me earlier this morning (she's an early riser) bouncing around my neck. It's been a while since I've been out of the jump suit and…well, clean, but it shouldn't be _that_ disquieting. I turn on my heel, sitting at the table as I contemplate going to change into something else.

"We are gonna have so much fun!" Kitty says enthusiastically. I guess they don't get to go out very often. "I say we eat first. Oh, then we could see a movie!"

"Yeah, I heard about this new psychological thriller—" Scott starts to say, but Kitty rolls her eyes. "Are you kidding?" Is her reply. "We have to see that new romantic comedy that's out! I think it's called 'Moonlight Love.'"

"Moonlight Love?" Echoes Rogue incredulously, and even I have to admit the name sounds about as sickly sweet as the donuts Kurt's just massacred. "That's the dumbest name I've ever heard…"

They start to go back and forth on the matter and I sigh tiredly, stirring my coffee. "Looks like you're in for a hell of a day." Logan comments behind his news paper and I smirk in spite of myself, "I'll say." Actually, he's got a point. How am I going to control all these teenagers by myself?

A sudden thought pops into my head.

"Why don't you come with us?" I ask hesitantly, and he peers at my over the news paper, eyebrows raised, "You're kidding."

I shake my head, "I could use another adult here. I'm not sure if I can handle them all at once." I add, glancing at the group of teens all sitting around the table, eating and conspiring together. There's no way I can keep track of them all, especially with me being so spacey lately. They don't see me as an authority figure yet. I'm too close to their age group.

Wolverine gives an indecisive grunt and I feel my mouth pull back in a sly smile, "I mean, if you can't handle it, it's _cool_. Not everyone's good with kids…" I say, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.

Realizing what I'm doing, he smirks back, and crosses his arms over his chest and says, "'F I didn't know any better, I'd say you're mocking me."

"Hm, can't have that, can we?" I counter, taking a casual sip of my coffee.

"Liz!" Kitty exclaims. "You are gonna _love_ Bayville Mall! They've got this photo booth that takes your picture and, like, puts them on other people's bodies. _It'ssototallycool!"_

I grin as Wolverine takes a seat next to me, a newspaper tucked under his arm.

"Ve could swap our heads, Kitty!" Kurt says excitedly as the table chatters on about the booth. "Then perhaps you could look as pretty as me!"

The table erupts with laughter and Kitty folds her arms in a pout, before cracking a smile and tossing an orange slice at the blue elf's face. Even I had to laugh at that! I reach over and wipe a fleck of orange off his furry nose and he smiles sheepishly at me.

I turn back to my coffee, returning Wolverine's approving gaze.

* * *

Something hits me in the back of the head and I turn around in my seat for the third time in a row, "Seriously guys?! C'mon now, we're almost there!"

I sit back in my seat with a huff as laughter sounds off behind me and turn to Logan, "We _are_ almost there, right?"

"Almost," He replies tensely, a vein pounding in his temple. Apparently he's not overly fond of these little trips; especially not with all the snow slicking the road. "5 minutes tops." A pop corn kernel strikes him in the back of the head and sticks in his pointy hair. "Make that two."

I chuckle, plucking the kernel from his hair. Then I turn and put up a purple energy shield, separating the front seat from the back. "Handy," Logan comments, swerving when the tires hit a particularly slippery patch of road.

At least the field mutes the noise of the teens bickering in the back seat.

We make it to the mall after Logan cusses out some guy out using every curse word known to man during a road rage, and I manage to hurry everyone inside before the guy can come back to pick the wrong fight with the wrong Mutant.

The kids take off.

Kitty, Kurt, and Bobby stick together while Jean and Scott corral them. They're pretty responsible, those two. Logan and I, along with Rogue tail them at a respectable distance for a while; the two of them telling me about some of the things I've missed in the last seventeen years.

Logan told me mainly about what's both going on in the world of Mutants, telling me about new enemies and new allies; about some of their adventures involving a Mutant group called the Brotherhood which consists of a troubled boy named Lance (with control over earthquakes), a green-haired girl named Vertigo (who can make you dizzy…I guess) and even more interestingly—

Magneto's children: Lorna, Wanda, and Pietro.

" 'Does everybody have a son, now?!' " I wanted to cry out, but then I remembered how much time has gone by and consent that it's not really so surprising after all.

I don't ask who the mother is.

I'm about to check out what looks like an actual android (like on the Jetsons), when Kitty and Jean latch onto my arm and drag me into a clothing store. I only have time to toss a look at Logan that says, "Help me," when I'm ambushed by all three girls who all insist on me trying out each of their personal favorite styles.

Rogue, I note, dresses the three of us in all black get ups that cover most of our bodies, yet left me feeling incredibly exposed at the same time with some sort of mesh material that makes me feel like I fell into a giant fish net.

At least that's what Logan said when he saw me come out of the changing room.

"The hell are you guys doing here?" I'd asked him, looking around. I would have thought they'd be off doing…I don't know—something else! Not tagging along to try on clothes. "Where are the boys?"

No sooner had the words left my mouth when Kurt bounded out of a changing room wearing a low-cut, hot pink dress that hung off his scrawny shoulders, a proud grin on his face as if he'd just climbed mount Everest. When he turned around, there appeared to be a hitch in the dress where his tail would be (as he had to wear his disguise for the trip).

"Jesus, Kurt!" I'd exclaimed, trying to shoo him back into his stall as the others erupted in hysterics. "But I feel so pretty!" Kurt argued. Bobby was on the floor laughing and Jean was trying to stifle a grin as she scolded Scott for snorting with laughter.

I turned to Logan for help, but he had put a palm to his face with a deep groan. I guess he has to deal this sort of thing regularly.

I managed to get Kurt back in his stall with the orders for Logan to take them to try out more "fitting attire."

The girls' resumed their grooming.

Kitty's sense of style reminds me of a lollipop that throws up kittens and rainbows. Half the frilly crap she put on me made me want to gag and I was glad the boys were still gone when I came out in Shirley-temples' hand-me-downs.

"Alright, looks like I'm up next!" Jean said, clasping her hands together and she set off to find an outfit for all four of us. She came back sooner than later with a bundle of dresses and passed a light blue one into my hands just as Logan and the boys rounded the corner.

"I don't know, Jean," I find myself saying. "I'm not much for dresses really. Especially after that nightmare Kitty put me in."

"Trust me," Jean said with a wink. "This one's gonna look great."

I took the dress and, after another glance at Logan (who was caught up trying to pry the Elf out of a mountain of pillows after he and Bobby somehow managed to knocked over an entire sofa), I receded into the changing room.

The moment I saw myself in the mirror, I fell in love with the dress.

It was a one-shouldered dress, the sleeve going down to my elbow, with a fitted waist and a skirt that danced a few inches above my knee. The material of the entire dress was soft, like my shirt, and light as air.

It was possibly the most beautiful dress I'd ever worn.

It takes a considerable amount of coaxing but eventually I come out of the changing room, blushing deeply when the girls freak out—even Rogue—and the boys just sort of…stare.

I avoid Logan's eye as Rogue (who wears a corseted black and purple dress that perfectly matches her style) touches the single sleeve of my dress, "Oh ma' god," She breathes. "It's gorgeous."

"You go, Jean!" Kitty says, admiring her own reflection in her floral skirt with matching crop top.

"You, ah—" Scott stutters, taking in jeans spaghetti strapped, pale green sundress, "You look r-really ah…nice." He says for lack of a better word, and Jean blushes too, turning away with a sheepish grin as she twirls her red hair. "You really think so?"

Kurt and Bobby resume their messing around, teasing Rogue and Kitty, and running away when they threaten to lock them in the changing rooms.

I can't help it, and my eyes flick over to Logan. He watches me unabashedly and I feel one of my shoulders come up as though to say, "What can you do?" He walks over to me and I stare up at his face as he touches the sleeve of my dress.

"I think you're…missing a sleeve," He grunts, giving the material a flick and I raise my eye brows. "That's not all it's missing." I retort and give a spin. The back of the dress looks as though it's been cut straight down in a V right down to my waist line by a pair of giant scissors. I turn back around. "You didn't tell me how all-bearing this generation is."

"You get used to it," Logan smirks and I roll my eyes, "Uh huh." I turn to the girls and say, "C'mon guys, it's about time we go get something to eat. I wanna see this amazing food court of yours."

We change out of the fancy dresses and purchase them using one of the hundred dollar bills from the pamphlet, and I narrowly avoid Wolverine's insistent questions about where it came from, saying that Tilly had given me the money seventeen years ago, and that I had stashed it in my old room for safe keeping.

I can tell he doesn't quite buy it. I made it up on the spot and it's got more holes in it than I could ever hope to cover up, but hopefully he'll forget about the money. I'll just have to be more careful about whipping it out from now on.

We run around the mall a while longer before we sit down to eat. "McDonalds," I comment as we pull a couple of tables together. "Havne't had this in ages."

"This stuff's horrible fer yer health," Rogue says but eats it regardless. I'm glad to see she's having some fun.

From what I can tell, she just doesn't seem to mesh with the others very well. As a result, they tend to stay away from her. But whenever I see this, I make sure to loop my arm through hers—still careful not to touch her skin—and have her join the group with me.

Her whole demeanor has changed since we tried on those dresses; to the point where I don't even have to physically drag her into the fun anymore. She seems to be enjoying herself. And so do the others.

"I vos vondering…" Says Kurt next to me over the laughter and chatter of the group. "About my father."

The question catches me so off guard that I start to choke on my soda and erupt in a coughing fit. It takes a couple of pats on the back before I can catch my breath enough to say, "What—do you want to know?"

"Everything," Kurt breathed, leaning forward. "Vhat was he like? Vhat was his name?" I find that the rest of our table has fallen silent as well as a few tables nearby who must have overheard the question. One woman stares at me through narrowed eyes, already judging me.

I give another cough, though I am no longer choking, "Ah, I—well his name was, is, Azazel," I manage to say.

"And?" Kurt prompts when I don't say anything else. "What was he like?"

"He—he was…I mean—" I'm at a loss for words. I think I might have swallowed my own tongue.

"He was a good man, Elf," Logan says for me without even blinking. "As far as I know, he still is."

I feel so grateful I could burst into tears, but somehow I manage to keep it together as Jean, somewhat awkwardly, suggests that we head off to try out that head-swapping photo booth.

"Thank you," I murmur as the teens get in line to the booth. I avoid Nightcrawlers' gaze. I can tell he's not going to accept that half-assed description, but he doesn't push it. "I don't know what got into me. I just…couldn't say anything."

"Maybe there wasn't anything to say." Is Wolverine's reply and I look at him sharply, anger flushing my cheeks as I say indignantly, "That's not true!" I think about it a second, fighting to explain myself. "I was just caught off guard."

After countless picture-taking (Which was actually pretty funny) we climb back into the car as dark falls, and I sit back in the seat. If I was exhausted before then I'm dead now. I lean back and close my eyes, but I jump when a sharp ringing sound pierces my ears. I almost fell asleep, I realize with a shock, and I straighten up immediately.

I look around, avoiding Wolverine's sharp gaze, and peer drowsily into the back seat, "What was that?"

"My cell phone," Kitty replies absently, her thumbs twittling away at the small box in her hand. A…phone? But it's so small! Phones were enormous; could hardly fit in your brief case if you happened to have a portable one. This is…incredible.

Kitty must have noticed my curious look because she glanced up, her thumbs halting, "Oh! Duh! I forgot you guys had those dinosaurs for phones, huh?" She scoots forward in her seat to show me, "Look," She flips the phone, and it opens to reveal a little glowing key board with a tinted screen. "You can call people, text, and even play games…"

She spends most of the car ride introducing me to this box, and the fatigue seems to lift right off of my eyelids, my mind clearing from its groggy state as I process what she's showing me. "But how does texting work? They're just numbers." I say, noting that the keyboard has only numbers on it, with the alphabet printed in 3's on each number; in a smaller font, of course.

"You just press 'em a few times," Kitty explains with a laugh, thoroughly enjoying my technological naïveté. "Like if I wanna say 'Hi,' you press 4 twice, and the press 4 three times." I look down at the screen.

HI It reads.

I stare at the word a long while, something in my exhausted brain not quite clicking. There's a connection here but…I haven't slept in over a day, and while the new tech does interest me, I feel I'm beginning to shut down. I could never stay awake long, not unless I was on the run like—like before.

But now, in the company of the X-Men, the new and improved X-Men, with these joyful youths, in the comfort of this car with its delicate hum…It's all so inviting. Just to sleep…

But I can't.

"That's really cool, Kitty." I murmur in a daze, blinking profusely. I tear my eyes away from the screen. "Huh…"

* * *

**Cool, groovy, far-out, chill. Gotta love the lingo! Anyway, more chapters coming up sooner than later. Stay tuned!**

**~THESCRIBE!**


	7. Chapter 7 Verge

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE X-MEN OR MARVEL! Thank you and Enjoy ;D**

Chapter 7: Verge

"You can't stay awake forever, you know."

I turn my heavy head, removing my fingers from the knots I'd clawed in my hair and look through the narrow slits of my eyes at the shirtless Mutant before me, giving an aggravated groan, "You don't understand."

I just can't go to sleep. Why won't anyone see that?

"Don't have to," Logan replies as I bury my face in my hands. My head feels like someone poured molten lead in my ear. It's so heavy that whenever I try to recline my head back by neck feels like a tree branch that just couldn't take the strain under a heavy wind storm. "I know what I'm talking about here."

I make room as Logan makes to sit down beside me. The couch creaks cantankerously as his weight sinks into the cushions. The guy must weigh a ton. No surprise. Considering the adamantium skeleton…

I bring my knees up to my chest, blinking at him blearily, "I can't…go to sleep." I explain miserably, my voice hoarse and fragile as I must look right now in my borrowed yoga pants, tank top, and woolen shawl. So comfortable... "I want to, but I just…can't."

"What are you afraid of?" Logan asks and for the umpteenth time I wonder who the hell this guy is. The one person who I had thought changed the least is turning out to be the one to change the most. I find it even more off-setting than the Professors bald, bald, baaaaaallllllddddd head…(still can't get over that).

I give a humorless breath of laughter, careful to keep my voice down as I say, "I'm afraid I won't wake up. Or that I will but next time…next time I'll be—" My words trail off pathetically as I hug my arms to my chest, "Everything is so different, now. But—something's are the same. It's all so confusing. What'll happen if I wake up and another seventeen years have gone by? I don't think I could bear it." I whisper.

Wolverine takes his time responding.

After a moment I look up to see if he's falled asleep on me but his eyes are open, staring forward. He must be beat, I decide. I'm about to suggest that he go back to sleep when he says in an oddly detached rumble, "I don't remember the War. None of 'em." This catches my attention and I lift my head to watch him more closely as he speaks, but his own eyes are too far away for me to reach. I think he might be reminiscing. I honestly had no idea he was in a war. Or multiple wars for that matter. "But I remember that feeling. Those nights when we'd wait—" He seems to swallow a lump in his throat. "Wait to die. The shells…so loud."

I want to tell him to stop; his words are so far, far from me.

I don't interrupt. I am overly conscious of my breathing, fearing it's too loud—like those shells. My heart races against the shivers that run down my spine and through my legs as Wolverine embellishes only a fraction of what he must have gone through in those battles. It frightens me, but still I can't bring myself to stop him.

He continues, hollow, lost in the fragments of his own shattered memory, "And when they'd stop. You could only hear the screams. And when _they'd_ stop..." He sighs, and looks at me, his eyes returning from the far off place to find mine, "I'll never know what it feels like—to do whatever you can so you won't fall asleep. To be afraid you'll never wake up. I'll always wake up. But I know what it is, to fear sleep. The nightmares don't stop, but Chuck's got 'em under control. Still, every now and then…I wake up with the scent of gunpowder on my nose and my sheets torn to shreds."

Logan looks at me and I at him. I find my breath at last. "I can't guarantee that you'll wake up. But I'll be damned if I let you stay up freaking out all night." His eyes are returning while mine grow ever distant. I nod my head absently. He's right I know. I turn to him, chest heaving, letting go of my knees and meeting his eye full on, "Don't leave me."

If I'm going to do this, I'm not doing it alone.

* * *

My breathing doesn't ease until long after I've settled into the sheets. It's quiet, yet I can hear noises in the house. The sound of air from a duct blasting warm waves over my face, the sound of the snow storm raging just outside, and Wolverine's steady breathing matching my own. Such sounds mixed together are so strange to me, so calming.

I think I'll fall asleep soon.

But something in me continues to resist. "I can't—" I start to say, sitting up, the covers pooling around me like water but before I can flee there's a reassuring hand on my arm. I feel caught in a snare, between wanting desperately to leave this room, start another pot of coffee and jump back on the computer once more to try and find that damn password…

But the mere thought of attempting to stay awake another night. And the night after this night. And the night after that. It terrifies me, makes me feel sick. I can't go on much longer like this. I know it. So, why can't I just shut my eyes?

I feel on the verge of hyperventilating, my breath coming in short, pained pants and my eyes widening with fear and panic as the horrifying possibilities weigh in on me, threatening to crush me under its collective weight—

Then I'm being pulled back. My shoulders sink into the sheets once more, my head coming down on the feathered pillow beneath me like a fluffy cloud, and then there are arms around me and I find my face buried into a shoulder.

It's then that my breathing slows at last, and every tense muscle in my body relaxes at once. I drift alarmingly fast. It's not so scary, when it's quick.

* * *

"What is it, Vertigo?"

"It's Her."

"…Yes?"

"Look…Her vitals. Do you see—?"

"Yes, I see, Vertigo. They are returning to normal."

"Then why isn't she waking up?"

"…"

"Sir?"

"Leave us."

"But—"

"I must run some tests now leave. Immediately."

"Yes, Sir."

"And, Vertigo?"

"…Yes, Sir?"

"Why don't you give our friends in Bayville…a little visit?"

"With pleasure."

* * *

I wake up gasping and trembling all over.

I can't remember what the dream was or why it terrified me so, but a feeling of unease weighs down on me like a sheet of lead; unrelenting. I look around wildly, eyes wide as the light pours through the window, blinding in its harsh ray. I glance down and around at the bed, the room.

I'm alone.

I feel uneasy. It's not so much that Wolverine isn't here but that he _was_ here at some point in time. I lower my head into my hands and groan, shaking my head over and over. What am I doing? What was I thinking?!

I'm glad that I finally got some sleep but why do I feel so guilt-ridden?

Is it because I feel like I'm betraying Azazel? But why should I feel that way? We didn't do anything and it was meant to help me, which it did. And it's not like Azazel's here to say anything about it, anyway. For all I know he's waking up to some green-skinned floozy right now...

Ignoring the pang of guilt and grief just below my diaphragm, I climb out of the bed and stretch. I feel great. I'm still drowsy from sleep but I feel rejuvenated; like I could swim to Genosha, throw Magneto's money in his face, and run away laughing if I wanted. But right now…

I think I'll settle for some coffee.

I go down into the kitchen and am met by….nothing. No one is here.

I look around, unsettled, and check the time. It's 10:34 AM and a weekend. Either everyone is still asleep or they went out on an excursion and…neglected to tell me.

Nice.

I finish up with my coffee and wander into my room where I absently click on the TV and start to get dressed in one of the new outfits I purchased from the mall: a denim skirt, and a simple black blouse along with some nice wedges. There's something on the news about a commotion going on downtown but I mute the TV in favor of a CD that Rogue had suggested I buy by an artist called, Limp Biscuit. I crank the music and start on my hair. It's not half bad actually.

I'm just about done with my hair (going for the straight look today) and I'm about to go down to call the Professor using the house phone when a little blue elf darts silently across the TV screen and disappears from view.

"Kurt?!" I gasp aloud and hastily unmute the TV, my hands shaking as I take in the scene being caught on camera LIVE. It's the X-Men no doubt but they're definitely not out on another trip to the mall. In fact, they seem to be fighting other mutants! One is a woman with green hair and another is a skinny guy wearing a gaudy green suit.

I'm seeing a theme here…

The next thing I know I'm tearing off my civilian clothes and yanking on my suit. I highjack the car and take off down the street in the direction of the commotion, but quickly become lost when I realize I have no idea where I'm going. I don't know this town nearly enough to find my way around, but when I get out of the car, I soon hear screams as people around me start to panic.

Looks like the action's coming to me.

I follow their terrified gazes and look over head to see a winged man hurtling through the sky in my direction at an alarming speed. He appears to be crashing. I run into the street, narrowly avoiding being plowed by an oncoming car and concentrate my abilities, flexing muscles I haven't used in ages in an attempt to save the falling man.

I manage to throw up an energy shield just in time and catch the winged man just before he slams into the room of a building and I hold my concentration long enough to bring him gently to the sidewalk. That nap did wonders on me. I feel more energized than I have in seventeen years (heh heh) and the sudden rush of adrenaline has only made me more anxious to get into the action.

I hurry over and assess the condition of the winged man.

I kneel beside him and turn him over. His face is partly covered in a thick red and black material, but from what I can tell he's very handsome, with sharp, refined features and cool blue eyes. He stirs and looks up at me in confusion, "What happened?"

"You fell," I say shortly, helping him into a sitting position and he stretches out his wings tentatively. "Are you hurt?"

"No," He looks up at me a smiles, a white, straight-toothed grin. "Thanks to you."

"Are you with the X-Men, too?" I ask through my sudden blush, and help him stand up. He gives a vague laugh, stretching noisily, "I used to be, but—well, things got in the way. Wait, you mean you're part of the team?"

I nod, "And apparently I'm tardy to the party."

"Overslept?"

"Actually, yes."

"Then I guess we shouldn't keep em waiting any longer," Says the stranger with the white wings, like that of an Angel, and suddenly (and without warning), I'm whisked into the air. The ground drops from beneath my feet and then I'm soaring in the man's arms high above the city.

I give a startled cry and wrap my arms around his neck. I haven't flown in forever. Not since I used to go out with Glenn, soaring over the battered cities of our hometown. Angel chuckles and says, "Don't worry, I won't drop you. My name's Angel by the way."

Too distracted to think of a fake name and too embarrassed to use my old code name (Ghostgirl); so, I just settle for my first name, "Elizabeth. Now, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure. All I could tell was the X-Men were being attacked by some of Sinister's cronies and so I went down to see if I could help. You…saw how well that went."

"Sinister," I echo as we draw closer towards were the action is.

Or was.

The area is completely deserted now, with only a few people lingering among the destruction, taking pictures with their phones. The battle must have been intense because there are shattered cars, debris, and telephone poles everywhere. A firehydrant has been completely uprooted and sends showers of water down all around me.

"Where is everyone?" Angel says next to me, using his wings to shield us from the pouring water.

"They're a little busy at the moment," Replies a voice that isn't mine, and I turn to see the green haired woman from the television smirking deviously atop the roof of a rundown barbershop just a few meters ahead of us. "But I'll take a message."

" 'Where did she come from?' " I wonder, but I brace myself for a fight and Angel does the same, his wings flourishing as he prepares to charge. He reminds me of Glenn. He would always flare his wings as a warning just before an attack; to intimidate an opponent.

"Who are you?" I find myself asking, though I'm pretty sure I know who she is, from what Wolverine told me at the mall. "What do you want?"

"Ah, looks like Xaviers' found himself a new recruit!" The woman scoffs, jumping down lithely from the roof and landing gracefully on her feet. "Name's Vertigo. Hold still and you'll find out why."

She lifts a hand threateningly, and I throw up a forcefield just in time. A wave of pulsing energy surges over my energy field and has no effect on either of us. I smirk, "I'm sorry, what were you saying? I couldn't hear over my_ forcefield._"

I'm about to launch a counter offensive when something catches me from behind, yanking back my head by the hair and throwing me to the floor. My forcefield falls as I lose my concentration and I hear Angel give a shout followed by the scuffling sounds of a fight ensuing.

"Can you hear me now?" Says Vertigo, standing over me. I lash out with my legs and kick her feet out from under her. She plummets to the ground as I get to my feet and pin her down with another energy field, this one encompassing her in a small, dome-like structure. Once I'm sure she's down, I glance around, wondering what hit me.

That's when I see him. Or rather,_ them_.

There are about six of them, all dressed in green and surrounding Angel in what I can only describe as a wolf pack attack; one or two of them lunging out at the winged man while the others circle around, waiting for the chance to strike. They're all similar in stature but it's too far away to tell what they look like.

I'm not sure what to do. I can't just leave Vertigo here, but I have to help Angel. I settle for a compromise. "Angel!" I call out to him and he looks up quickly, taking in Vertigo—still pinned beneath my shield—and my outstretched hand, glowing with purple energy, in one glance. "FLY!"

He shoots up into the air and I fire an energy blast large enough to flip a small automobile directly at the wolf pack.

In a flash of light, they're gone.

For a second, I fear I've disintegrated them (I didn't hit them _that_ hard, I don't think), but a piercing whistle catches our attention and I discover another green suited man standing a ways behind us; unharmed. He wears a broad grin as he says, "Missed me!" He pounds a fist into his hand and in a blurr of movement there are twelve of him. This must be the one Wolverine calls Multiple Man. "Now you've got to kiss me." All twelve of them say and they start to advance forward.

"I think he's talkin' to you." I say to Angel, careful not to let up on Vertigo as she starts to curse at me. I remember Logan said she could create powerful hallucinations and nausea. There'd be no way for my to defend myself if she got into my head.

"No way," Angel replies with a laugh. "You're the pretty one."

"Not even, Goldie Locks!" I retort as the first guy darts forward. Angel catches him across the chest with one of his wings and I cover his back when one of them snakes around to try and catch him off guard. The guy goes sailing as I hit him with a powerful energy blast and I do the same for a number of them, just able to keep them back and hold Vertigo at bay.

They quickly realize they can't get close enough to me without being blasted to all hell and the Multimen halt their assault. But only long enough to perform one last trick. Angel and I watch in awe and a growing sense of dread as every duplicate fists their palms and multiplies in threes. Soon we're completely surrounded by an army of Multimen.

I curse under my breath as Angel says, "I think this is where we take our leave."

"Right you are," I agree and promptly drop my hold on Vertigo as we take off into the air, narrowly avoiding the mob as they spring forward to nab us mid flight; only to fly right through us and crash into one another. "You can turn intangible?" Angel exclaims once we're a safe distance away.

"Uh huh," Is my only reply. I'm thinking…"I've got an idea. Bring me in lower!"

Angel swoops back down and I throw out both hands (Angel securing me by the waist) and enclose the entire mob in a ball of energy, along with Vertigo. Once the mutants realize they can't escape, Angel and I land. Angel claps me on the back jovially, "Nicely done! I can't stand those guys."

"I can't imagine why." I say as they attempt to multiply even more, as though they can break through the force field, but they soon realize that more bodies means more oxygen used up in the small, enclosed space and their numbers soon dwindle down to two. Vertigo appears to be passed out from the lack of oxygen after being crushed by the Multimen and Multiple Man himself looks beat as he slumps inside the glowing prison.

"Where shall we put them?" I ask. I didn't even break a sweat but I am feeling pretty vengeful after that uncalled for hair pulling.

Angel thinks about this a moment, then snaps his fingers and flies over to a large garbage can in an alley way. He flips open the lid and gives a grand gesture as though welcoming an aristocrat into his home. "Oh, you are so wrong." I say but move the pair into the trash without hesitation, closing the lid before they can bust out and Angel clasps a zip tie onto the lid.

"You never know," He explains at my questioning look and I realize he must bring them on his crime fighting excursions. Smart. "I thought you didn't work with the X-Men." I say.

"I do late-night patrols every now and again," He says nonchalantly, banging on the garbage can as Vertigo and Multiman try to break out, shouting incoherently. "Speaking of X-Men," he adds, dusting off his hands. "I think we ought to go look for the others—"

"Don't waste your time, Bub," Says Logans disgruntled voice as he appears around the corner along with the others. His clothes are torn to shreds but his wounds are already healing. "Where were you?" Angel asks, stepping forward as the others make their way over. They all look pretty beat, their heads hang low, and something seems off about them.

They looks so forlorn and—well—depressed.

"I could ask you the same thing!" Logan snaps at the blonde haired Mutant. "What were you doing, anyway—" His words suddenly cut off when he gets a good look at me and an odd look of recognition crosses his face as he lifts the mask from his face. "Elizabeth?"

The rest of the group all come alive at once, having lingered behind to hail the Blackbird as it began to land in the area, and they now rush over at once; some with tears in their eyes, others laughing hysterically.

"Where were you!?" Kitty cries, flinging herself at me and I catch her around the shoulders in surprise as the teens crowd around me. Rogue has large bags under her eyes and a cut on her lip. She looks at me guardedly, which scares me most of all.

"What do you mean?" I ask in exasperation. They're all acting like I chose to be left behind at the mansion. "I was—" I glance at Logan, but quickly avert my eyes, feeling heat crawl up the back of my neck, "Asleep!"

" 'You were gone,' " Says Professor X's stoic voice as he wheels off the ramp of the Blackbird and the rest of us go to greet him. "But this is neither the time nor the place for this discussion." He says aloud. "Come, let us return to the institute at once."

* * *

**Dun, dun, duuuuunnnn. Until next time! Thanks for reading!**

**~THESCRIBE! :D**


	8. Chapter 8 A Christmas Miracle

**Just getting in the Christmas spirit! Enjoy ;D**

Chapter 8: A Christmas Miracle

_Previously on the New World:_

" '_You were gone,' " Says Professor X's voice as he wheels off the ramp of the Blackbird and the rest of us go to greet him. "But this is neither the time nor the place for this discussion." He says aloud. "Come, let us return to the institute at once."_

We all nod our consent and Angel follows us into the Blackbird, folding his wings delicately behind him as he walks up the ramp, "The MRD can handle them." He says when I look back uncertainly at the Mutants still entrapped in the dumpster.

"What about your father?" Logan rasps as we take to the air, and I vaguely wonder what he means as Angel whips off his mask, revealing just what I suspected—an _angelic _face.

Angel shrugs indifferently, but I can tell the subject is a sore one. "Eh, he won't miss me for an hour or so. Besides, I'm much more interested in what's going on here. Anyone wanna fill me in?"

"Not sure if I can," Logan says, looking pointedly at me and I blush, remembering the night before. "Care to give it a shot?"

I hesitate then say somewhat dejectedly, "I don't know. I fell asleep, that much I remember." I say, leaving out the part about _where_ I fell asleep. "And then I woke up and everyone had left. I saw you all on the TV," I say, gesturing to the group who all eye me cautiously, as though I'll disappear any second. "And I came down to see if I could help."

" 'The car is parked over at 12th street and Warner by the way,' " I relay mentally to the Professor, who merely nods in understanding.

I look around, expecting an explanation but when I'm met with odd looks and silence I grow angry, "Well?! What the hell happened to me?"

"It's like I said before," The Professor responds calmly. "You disappeared. It is very likely that you may have returned to your physical body."

I let that sink in for a moment before asking, "Then wouldn't I have woken up where ever my body is? Why can't I phase back into my body permanently?"

"It is my belief," Hank says from the controls, setting the jet to autopilot to address me directly. "That, while your astral body is well, your _physical body_ has not yet finished healing. You may very well be in a comatose state as we speak. You woke up back in your bed, did you not?"

"…Yyyyes." I say. " 'More or less.' "

"Of course this is mere speculation," Hank continues. "However, I believe if we ran a few tests and perhaps watched you fall asleep we might be able to confirm our speculations. I propose we set up a simulation in which—"

"Yeah, yeah that's nice, Hank," Logan waves him off much to our collective relief. "What I wanna know is what Sinister's goons were doing this far from their master."

"That's the thing," Jean says, looking unnerved as she rubs her shoulder, probably bruised. "They weren't_ after_ anything. It looked like they were just…wrecking stuff."

"Like they were trying to get our attention or something." Kitty adds. Even she looks worse for wear, and I can't help but feel like there's a giant elephant in the jet right now. "Was Glenn with them?" I ask in a small voice.

"You mean that psycho with the bionic rat tail?" Angel asks incredulously, much to everyone else's chagrin. "The guy would've turned me into street pizza if it weren't for Elizabeth here….What?" he asks when everyone just stares at him disapprovingly.

"No, it's nothing," I reassure him. He didn't know. "He was an old friend of mine but…I see he's changed now. I had no idea…." My voice trails off as we near the Mansion and suddenly I feel so fatigued I don't even have the strength to sit up in my seat. "I need a nap."

* * *

"That—that _bitch!"_ Vertigo sputtered once they got back to Sinister's lair. "She made me look like an amateur!"

"Hear that, Razor?" Arthur said, elbowing one of his clones jestingly. "Looks like you're old GF's a B-I-T-C—_ack!_ Hey, hey, no need for the violence, Glenn, I was just joking!"

"Joke less," Glenn grunted, his vocal box vibrating irritatingly against his throat, which had been replaced with a layer of plated steel after his first suicide attempt went awry. "I'm not in the mood."

"Aren't you even _a little_ happy?" Multiple Man pressed. "I mean, it's been, what, ten years? I'd be all over that!"

"You're all over anything that moves." Vertigo countered, shoving past him angrily as she picked off a brown smudge from her white and green suit. She didn't even want to know what it was.

"Where are _you_ going?" Razor hissed, grabbing Vertigo's arm painfully as she tried to leave. "We've got to report to Sinister."

"I need a shower," She insisted, attempting to pull away from the towering giant, beefed up by roids and experimental enhancements. "Thanks to your little girlfriend, I smell like a garbage can!"

"Sinister first. You can shower after." Razor rumbled and pushed past her toward Sinister's study where he'd no doubt be watching the following news report. Vertigo stared after him, her eyes boring holes into the back of his misshapen head. "When did _he_ start boss _us _around?"

"When he went cuckoo," Multiple Man gestured toward his temple in a circular motion with his eyes crossed.

Vertigo groaned in response, "If he weren't Sinister's prized pet, I'd put him down, personally. Like Essex should have done a long time ago." She grumbled.

"You coming?" Glenn's voice snapped around the corner through which he'd disappeared and Vertigo stiffened, but waved Arthur over, "C'mon, let's get this over with."

* * *

"Things have gone better than I'd hoped," Essex said ponderously after the crew had finished giving their report. It was almost too perfect. Soon enough, both his prizes would be within his grasp. He only needed to push the Ghostgirl over the edge and then they would both be his. "She has gotten stronger."

"Leave us," Essex said to Vertigo and Multiple Man with a dismissive wave. They left and the good doctor propped open a window to air out the stink left in their absence. He hadn't expected them to win of course; however, such an undermining defeat would not be tolerated again. He took a cleansing breath of air and sighed, "Tell me, Mr. Kavi, how did it feel to see your old friend once again?"

"I didn't," Glenn admitted bluntly.

"Oh?" Asked Essex curiously. "I was certain—"

"I was preoccupied with the other X-Men," Glenn replied somewhat bitterly. They had given him a run for his money, that was for sure. None more than that Wolverine. "She didn't turn up until later. I never saw her."

Sinister shook his head; disapproving. "You have been a loyal comrade to me for seven years now, Mr. Kavi. My _Razor."_ He added affectionately. "I would hate to see that loyalty tested by…sentiment."

"That is unlikely," Said Glenn, his voice completely devoid of emotion, which only made Sinister all the more suspicious. It was easy to pretend to be stoic, emotionless. It was another entirely to be admit to strong emotions and overcome them."She means nothing to me now. It's because of her that I am what I am. I owe her no kindness."

There was the reassurance he needed.

Anger. The most powerful emotion. And most reliable.

Sinister nodded his head approvingly, "You'll do well to remember that, Razor. That will be all, for now."

Essex watched as his greatest achievement up to date slithered out of the room, making mental notes on what could be improved and what had to go as he left. He knew it, however, that it wouldn't matter soon enough. He had his sights set on much bigger projects. But he needed to know more. He had noticed the night before as he was checking the unconscious girl's vitals that her heart rate had dropped substantially into her previous sleeping state before rising once more at approximately 10:34 in the morning.

She was waking up and falling back asleep, there was no question about it. No doubt returning to her body, but why? And was it possible to awaken her without causing her any mental or physical impairments?

It was too fragile to play guessing games with, Essex decided. He would be patient. He had waiting seventeen years to get his desired results. He could wait a bit longer.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

"I can't do this," I say, sitting bolt right up on the cold, hard table. Hank gives a sigh and turns away from the large computer taking up more than half the room.

"You have to." He tells me earnestly. "It's the only way we can actually see and monitor where your body goes when you fall asleep." Hank leans forward and puts a clawed hand on my forearm. "We might be able to _find you_, Elizabeth."

I look away and chew on my lip. It _seems_ legit, but I just can't fall asleep! I'm not tired in the least. I feel as jittery as a Chihuahua on crack. And worse yet, no one knows that I hadn't been in my room the night I disappeared. Logan hasn't said anything either, but what if—

What if that's the only way I can get to sleep? With him beside me?

"I know, Hank…But I can't." I jump off the table, removing sensors and a little clip from my finger as I do so. The sound of a flat line gets the other's attention, and Kitty, the Professor, and Angel hurry in. When they see I'm alright, everyone relaxes.

"Are you certain you wouldn't like me to put you to sleep, Ms. Hawthorne?" The Professor asks and I feel a certain wave of nausea twist my stomach; a cold sweat breaks across the nape of my neck. I don't want to be put to sleep. It scares me still. Now more than ever.

I start to walk away, "I'm sure. I think I need to go for a walk or something." I add before heading into the hallway. "Clear my head."

I hear footsteps pound after me and soon Warren is walking in step with me, "How about a flight instead?"

I breathe a relieved sigh. That actually sounds wonderful. "Sure."

* * *

"Are you sure I'm not too heavy?" I ask as we climb higher into the sky, passing through clouds as big as minivans. It's begun to snow lightly and the chill grows the higher we fly.

"I've had worse," Angel responds with a cheeky grin. "Besides, it's not too far now."

"What is?" I call over the sounds of the air currents rushing by, but soon the winds die down as Angel slows. We start to drift down through the clouds until we happen upon a city, nearest what looks like an old cathedral.

"I like to think of it as my own little secret hide out." He responds as we touch down on the roof of the cathedral. A light snow fall as made the roof of the cathedral a bit slippery and the sloped ceiling makes me a bit nervous.

"Kinda dangerous, isn't it?" I ask, gripping his arm to keep from falling. Warren just laughs and pulls me down to a more even area of the roof top. I watch, pulling my coat more securely around me as Warren sweeps away a layer of snow from a hatch leading inside the church. I eye him and he shrugs, "I used to watch the ministers come up here to clean off the gargoyles. They never lock it so…"

"Hm, breaking and entering." I comment, my voice echoing as we descend an uncomfortably tight spiral staircase into the cathedral. "Romantic."

"I like to think so," Replies Angel smugly. We stop at a wooden door and he lifts a finger to his lips and whispers, "In here."

We go inside. It's quiet save for the small, imperceptible sounds of flickering candle light and my own gasp of awe. It's gorgeous. Stained glass makes up most of the walls in the room and the places where these elaborate windows do not touch are lined with candles of every shape, size, and smell.

A few pews line the area, cushioned with red padding, and a small aisle down the middle leads to the largest stained glass window of all. A large, black cross in the center of the window casts a shadow down the already darkly lit room.

"I love it." Is all I can say, but my voice is barely above a whisper. This place has such a mystical, sacred air; quiet and untouched. I sit in one of the pews next to Angel and for a long while it's silent. But a question pops into my head, uninvited, "You said this was your secret hide out. What were you hiding from?"

"My father. The world. Myself." Warren replies. "You name it. I used to come up here just to think. Stretch my wings. Fly." He turns to me and smiles sadly. "Everyone needs an escape."

"Everyone needs an escape," I murmur. "I think you're right."

"This could be your escape, too, you know." Angel adds a bit hesitantly but I shake my head, "No, this is your sanctuary. I'll find mine. After I take care of some things."

"Might wanna do a rain check on that." Is his sage reply and I glance at him curiously, admiring his proud, jawline and the way the shadows sharpen his cheek bones. "Always set up a foundation before you go soul searching. It's the best way to keep yourself from getting hurt."

"What do you mean?" I ask. I could use a little motivation right about now.

"Logan told me about your…situation." He replies. "And I know you must be dying to search for your own answers. From what I can tell you've already started. But you need to slow down. Build a foundation. Find your sanctuary. Things aren't going to make sense for you right away. And if you fly too close to the sun…"

"You'll fall." I say, something clicking in my memories from church, so very long ago.

He nods. "Familiar with the story of Icarus?"

"A bit." I say uneasily. Religion has never been my strong suit despite my Christian background. "You seem to identify with the story yourself."

"You could say that," He shrugs, his wings making a soft fluttering noise as he does so. "I flew too close to the sun once. It only took me one time to fall and I vowed I'd never do it again. I thought that if I could just touch the sky then everything would be alright. It's better to know your limits and know yourself than to jump and hope there's something there to catch you when you fall. "

"But I can't just leave it alone!" I exclaim and stand up, feeling irritable once more. I move over to a statue of the Virgin Mary, but I don't touch her. She looks ancient; a blanket of dust gracing her stone cheeks and her faint, smiling lips. "I've never felt whole. Not _once_ in my entire life. I've never felt so lost now more than ever. I have to know everything. Then maybe…maybe I can find my own sanctuary. A place to spread _my_ wings."

"I understand," Angel replies, moving to stand behind me as he places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Believe me, I do. Just…be careful."

I sigh but offer a small smile and he returns it warmly. "Thank you, Warren. This has to be the best Christmas present I've gotten in a while." I add with a laugh. The snow has gathered on the window sill just outside and it's coming in harder and faster than before.

"That's right," Angel says with a shock. "Christmas is next week, isn't it?"

I nod. It hadn't quite felt like Christmas time to me right up until now, but I'm suddenly feeling in the holiday spirit, "You know what? I think now's the perfect time for a little holiday shopping. What do you think?"

A slow smirk spreads across Angels perfect face and he pulls me over to the door, "Let me grab my coat."

We spend the next few hours walking around the town together; exploring the little side shops and kiosks around the Bayville strip mall and (using more of Magneto's borrowed bills) we purchase gifts and trinkets for nearly everyone at the mansion (at least the ones I know) and by the time we return to the mansion it's dark outside and we're both dead from all the walking.

Everyone seems surprised to see us when we walk through the front door, but it's the look on the Professor's face that tells me something's up. I immediately grow tense.

"What is it?" I ask gravely, the smile fading from my flushed face as he and a few of the other adults approach, somewhat cautiously. Then the Professor's face breaks out in a large smile, "A Christmas miracle, it would seem."

When I only knit my eyebrows in further confusion, Xavier gestures his head toward the living room where a large Christmas tree is in the works of being decorated. I set down my bags, conscious of the fact that the room has become bracingly silent; as though everyone is holding their breath.

I walk carefully into the living room.

A tall, slender, auburn-haired young man with long arms and longer legs is in the process of hanging up a white, speckled star ornament on one of the higher branches of the Christmas tree. He wears a maroon sweater with black, horizontal stripes and black pants.

Scott, who is standing next to him taps him on the shoulder and the surrounding commotion of the other young Mutants hanging out in the area (including Jean, Rogue, Kitty, Bobby and Kurt) stop what they're doing and watch as the boy turns and meets my eye.

"Dimitri…" I whisper, my hand coming to my mouth. He blinks and then his face, aged and pocked from acne scars, lights up as a crooked smile twists the corner of his mouth. He reminds me startlingly of Peter Pan with that mischievous smile, and notice that he's now considerably taller than me.

"They told me you were here," He says. His voice is smooth and a bit high pitched. His eyes still bear that same innocent brightness to them and I feel a lump well up in my throat. "I couldn't believe it but….It's true." He moves toward me and stops a few feet away. "It is you."

I blink a few times and sniff loudly, "You're so big!"

"Haahaha," He chuckles, one of the cutest sounds I've ever heard in my life and I feel myself laughing as well, mine coming out in choked, hiccups. I've never heard him laugh before. "Yeah, I guess I would to you! I was seven the last time I saw you! Everyone says I'm too skinny."

I nod at that. He is pretty thin.

I stare at him. I've stopped laughing and now I just look at him, taking him in. "Oh," I breathe, pressing a hand to my heart as tears spring to my eyes unwillingly. "You're all grown up!" I laugh again through my tears, "God, I sound like a sentimental old woman! You probably hardly remember me and here I am with the water works." I say, dabbing at my eyes, and I jump when he suddenly wraps his arms around me, hugging me as tightly as he did when he was seven years old, in the bottom of that cargo hold.

He was so small then.

I fight to stifle the sobs that well up in my throat as he says, "I thought I'd never see you again. I know I was young when it happened, but—I'll never forget what you did for us. If it weren't for you Tabitha and I would never have found a home. We never would have left that Island! I never got the chance to thank you."

"You don't have to," I murmur into his scrawny shoulder. He's warm in my arms. "I'm just so glad to see you again." I sniff and pull away after a moment, and look around, "Where is Tabitha?" I ask, wiping my eyes with the tip of my finger.

No sooner had the words left my mouth that a girl with pure white hair suddenly bursts through the doorway opposite the one I had come in through. "Dimitri!" She cries, dropping her floral purse that matches her dress on the floor and Dimitri turns as she runs toward him, her shortly cropped hair bouncing around her ears as she throws her arms around his neck, laughing.

"There you are!" She gasps, smiling broadly as she pulls away from him. "Where were you? I was looking everywhere."

He smiles back and looks at me, "I was catching up with a friend." He says and I feel a nervous knot form in my stomach as the girl turns around, still smiling as she starts to say, "What? Who—?"

Her voice seems to disappear in her throat, her green eyes (slightly darker than I last remember) widen, and the smile on her face slowly fades as though someone had flipped a switch. I feel my own smile falter and I take a few deep breaths before asking, "Tabitha? Do you—do you know who I am?"

She gasps suddenly, her chest heaving as though she had been holding her breath.

"It's okay," I say quickly, reaching out for her but her eyes widen in horror and she backs away quickly, breathing hard. I feel my eye brows draw together and my heart aches at the look of fear and shock in her eyes. She's definitely not taking this as well as Dimitri.

"Tabitha—" I whisper, feeling my eyes tear up as she takes another step away.

The others have started to crowd the room and Tabitha's green eyes flit around like a deer caught in headlights. She turns on her heel and runs back through the door, leaving me standing with my hand outstretched and my eyes overflowing. The others exchange uncertain looks and I feel a hand on my shoulder but I don't address it.

I blink and beads of water run down my cheeks as I watch her flee. I'm just about to start after her, when she stops in the hallway.

I catch my breath.

She puts her hands on her knees, breathing hard and then she straightens and turns around. Even though she's a good twenty feet or so away from me, I can see the tears in her eyes and then she's sobbing, running back towards me.

I run to receive her and I meet her half way.

She wraps her arms around my waist and we crumple to the ground together and, despite her being taller than me, she is reduced to that little girl I'd rescued off the Island, no more than child with long white hair and velvety white wings to match.

She buries her head in my chest, weeping uncontrollably and clings to me, digging her finger tips into my back as though to keep me from leaving again, but I don't mind. It makes me feel more grounded than I have been all day.

"Y-you left us!" She cries into my collar, soaking my shirt in tears, and I stroke her head as I had done beneath that trap door of the cargo ship, waiting to reach the shore. I remember how quiet she had been, hardly saying anything, giggling into my neck as I went to get her cleaned up above deck. The way her terrified, lime-green eyes bored into mine as I tried to coax her into leaving the crawl space.

I close my eyes and I can almost see it now. "You left us!"

"I know…" I whisper into her hair. It had been so long, but this short look seems to suit her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Tabitha."

"I-I never," She sobs through hiccupping breaths. "Got—to say—goodbye!"

I laugh, "I'm glad you didn't!" I say as I take her shoulders and pull her back. She looks at me through those wide eyes and I take her face in my hands, wiping her tears with my thumbs, "I was hoping you would say "Hello" instead."

At that she cracks a smile and starts to sob once more and I wrap my arms about her head and hold her close to my heart. "I'll never say goodbye." I whisper. I promise. "Never."

* * *

**MERRY CHRISTMAS! Mas chapters coming soon!**

**~THESCRIBE!**


	9. Chapter 9 Intrigue

**Sorry it's taken so long! Lot's of editing on both new stuff and old stuff. That's right! I'm doing some reviewing and reworking of The New Recruit and let me tell you...not pretty...Anyway, thanks for hanging in there. **

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the X-Men or anything affiliated with them. Just mah words and mah story. Enjoy! ;D**

Chapter 9: Intrigue

"Genosha!?" The Professor gasps over the collective murmurings of our little group. We've been sitting around the fireplace, drinking cocoa and coffee spiked with alcohol (for the adults) as we play catch up with Tabitha and Dimitri. But "Catch up" has since been turned into "Secret's out" as it were... "I thought you were both attending school in New York."

"We were." Dimitri explains tentatively, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. "But…it just seemed so much…better there."

"No one looks at you like you're a freak on Genosha." Tabitha agrees beside me as we lean against the foot of the couch, which has already been occupied by Kurt, Kitty and Bobby. She hasn't left my side since our reunion. Wolverine, Hank, Storm and Jean and Scott all sit opposite us, their gazes stern and scrutinizing.

"Why did you lie to us?" Storm asks softly, hurt evident on her proud, African features.

"We knew you'd be upset." Tabitha whimpers, looking near to tears once more and I take her hand in mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We didn't want to hurt you."

"Of course not," The Professor agrees. Then he turns to the others and says, "And I think we have been a bit overbearing in our opinions if our students feel they must keep secrets from us."

The adults' cast their gazes down as do Scott and Jean, who exchange guilty glances between one another. "Yeah," Kurt chips in in his little German drawl. "Genosha looks pretty cool. I think I'd go there too—" He catches Rogue's glare and says quickly, "If-if I weren't already (you know) here."

"There's nothing wrong with that," I say unabashedly, ignoring the sharp looks I get from several other Mutants. "Genosha seems like a great place for Mutants to go to feel included." I turn to Tabitha with a grin smile. "Maybe we could visit you guys some time after the holidays." I add, elbowing Dimitri playfully.

"That would be great!" Dimitri exclaims. "We could show you the Grand Coliseum and the Steele Gardens near the High Wall—"

"Could I—" Interjects Wolverine suddenly, standing up from the stool he'd drawn up earlier. "Have a word?"

He means me.

I heave an irritated sigh. If he's going to tell me to discourage these kids from pursuing their own lives, then he's barking up the wrong tree. Dimitri's 24 for god sakes! I get up and follow him out to a room a ways over. Not a second after we leave the room, he's on my case, "What are you doing?"

"I haven't seen these kids in seventeen years, Logan!" I snap angrily. "I'm not going to _criticize _their actions the second they feel comfortable telling us—"

"Sounds more to me like you're trying to get on their good side." He replies stubbornly, crossing his arms.

I shake my head incredulously, at a loss for words momentarily. What an insane accusation! "I—wha—you know what? Maybe I am! What's so wrong with that?" I sputter, realizing that that came out a bit worse than I would have liked but I'm determined to hold my ground on this one.

"What's wrong," Logan growls, taking a step toward me. Logan's a short guy but even he's taller than me right now. "is you're gonna lead them right into Magneto's hands."

"What?!" I exclaim, the pitch of my voice rising another octave. "And how would I do that? It's not like I'm saying he's a good guy. I just don't want them to feel like they can't make decisions on their own. What's your problem?" I snap, inclining my head forward. We're almost nose to nose at this point. "You didn't get after the Professor!"

"_He's_ not encouraging his students to go jump into a pit of vipers!"

"Oh, please! Give me a break! You're being completely ridiculous, you know that? What is your problem really? I want to know."

Logan hesitates, chest heaving with anger for a moment before he says in a much calmer tone, "He's not a good guy, Elizabeth."

I blink, then frown deeply, "Magneto?" I ask, moving back a bit. "What else is new?"

"I just…don't want you to get any ideas."

"About what?" I laugh, exasperated and turn away, realizing how close we'd been.

"Magneto is a lot smarter than you remember him," Logan grunts, taking hold of my arm and holding me in place, and I can't help but wonder if this is more personal than he's leading me to believe. Maybe he's still sore about my comment a few days ago, when I compared him to Erik. "He's led some of us down the wrong path before. He tricked Rogue and even the Elf into thinking he could be trusted. It's what he does!"

Logan sighs, letting me go, and shakes his head, running a large hand through his oddly shaped hair. "I know you're ready for answers, Elizabeth. I've been there." He adds, reminding me startlingly of my conversation with Angel. "But I don't want to see you push your luck looking for them. I've been there, too. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Suddenly I understand.

This wasn't about the kids and Genosha after all. It's what everyone's been trying to tell me all along. I'm going to fast; flying too high. I'm starting to act out and it won't be long before I really start getting in deep in my search for truth. I was already planning on seeking out Mystique at Bayville High Monday morning and I was planning on going to see Magneto later as well.

Too fast, too high.

"_Build a foundation. Find a sanctuary_." I murmur, remembering Angel's words from earlier.

"What?" Is Logan's automatic response and I meet his eye full on, the anger completely wiped from my face and voice, "I can't stop searching, Logan." I say, my voice hoarse from shouting. I turn my gaze down, a bit embarrassed from all the yelling. Going to Genosha? What was I thinking!? Magneto's bad news. Anyone with a brain could see that! "But…for now—" I take a shuddering breath and cross my arms as a sudden chill passes over me. "For now this is enough."

Logan groans and gently takes hold of my arms, a look of guilt on his rough features, "Maaaybe I could have worded that a little better…"

I roll my eyes, "I'm _agreeing _with you, Logan." I say firmly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Don't over think it. Sometimes you need a little blunt force to get a point across. Now come on," I say, gesturing toward the door as I pull out of his grasp. "We're missing out on all the fun."

We get back just as Angel is leaving and we meet in the door way, nearly crashing into one another. "Leaving so soon?" I ask, ignoring the slight blush that tints my cheeks, and he nods, adjusting his trench coat over his wings, "Gotta get back to the old homestead. My father will be expecting me…" He checks the Rolex sitting delicately upon his wrist. "Four hours ago."

"Heh, heh…" Wolverine chuckles next to me and pats him roughly on the shoulder, "Night, Warren."

"See ya', Logan!" He calls back, then turns to me, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets, "Walk me out?"

I see him out the door and linger a bit on the large porch, burying my chin and mouth under my scarf (kitty has a thing for knitting) as the frosty air assaults my skin. Still not used to all the snow. "You're not gonna fly in this, are you?" I ask, a bit concerned by the howling winds. It looks like another blizzard might be upon us.

"Nah, I'm catchin' a cab which should be here riiiighht about…now." He points down the walk way just as a pair of headlights approach in the distance.

"Nice timing," I comment and walk with him to the cab. "Will you be joining us for Christmas?" I ask as he opens the door of the cab, "I was thinkin' about it." He replies lazily.

"Well it'd be great if you did." I say, looking back toward the house. "The kids seem to enjoy having you around." I add, thinking back to the way they'd crowded around him earlier as Dimitri and Tabitha were telling us about their little escapades. They've really grown up. No surprise…

"Well I sure hope they're not the only ones!" Warren says with a laugh and I snort, saying, "Get outta here before you—catch a cold, or something."

"Yes, Ma'am," Is his sarcastic reply, but before he gets in the cab, Warren turns around and extends his hand, "I'm glad I got to share the evening with you."

"Same here," I take his hand. "I just hope I didn't get you into too much trouble with your Dad…"

"Nothing I can't handle," Warren says with a wink and he releases my hand and climbs into the cab. I start to walk away but he rolls down his window and calls out, "About what we discussed earlier…You should really talk to Logan. I think you two could really learn a thing or two from each other!"

"I'll think about it!" I call back and wave as the cab slowly pulls away.

I make the long trek back to the Mansion, my mind thankfully blank as I do so, and I stop a moment to enjoy the chilly air.

They're both right, of course. And I'm going to stick to my promise. I'm going to take things slow from now on. Not just to keep my own sanity but to give the others a breather as well. Everyone's been so tense lately because of me, when they should be enjoying the holidays.

And besides, I'm not going anywhere.

* * *

_*RIIINNNNGGGGG* *RIIINNNNNGGGG*_

I glance up from my nails, then resume my painting. Someone else will get it.

_*BBBRRRRRRIINNNNG* *RIIIIIINNNNNGGGGGG*_

The phone continues to ring but there is no one to pick it up. Kitty left her cell at the Mansion but when I suggested that I take it to their school, the Professor, hastily, rejected the idea and told me to hold onto it until the kids got off from school. It's a half-day anyway and they'll be off in about…(I check the time on the digital clock across the room, just above the fireplace) 40 minutes. I know the real reason he won't let me go.

Mystique.

I don't want to see her anyway. At least...that's what I convince myself.

I mess up on one of my nails. A dab of NightShade Blue (that Rogue thought would compliment my skin tone) drips off my pinkie finger and I hastily wipe it off with a cleanex soaked in nail polish remover. Gotta do that one over.

_*RRRIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGG* *RRIIIIII—_

"What?!" I end up hissing into the phone, thinking it's one of Kitty's friends or something, and I'm wholly shocked to hear her voice on the other end of the line, "Oh, thank god it's you, Liz!" Whispers her slightly out of breath voice.

"Kitty?" I ask incredulously, my own voice immediately hushing. I shift the phone in my hands, careful not to smudge my nails. "What's wrong? You sound funny."

"We…kinda got into some trouble." Is her reluctant reply and I can hear whisperings and shouts in the background. I immediately go on high alert and stand up, asking, "Trouble? What kind of trouble? Kitty, where are you?"

"We're still at school, don't worry. But we…."

"Yeees?" I prompt, when she doesn't continue right away, sitting back down as my heart rate returns to normal.

"We got into a fight with the brotherhood, but, like, we didn't even start it, and now we're in trouble and we need you to pick us up at room 284 or else the teacher will call Ms. Darkholme so you have to come right now and please don't tell the Professor or Logan please please…"

"Kitty! Kitty!" I call over her steady stream of pleas and she quiets down a bit as I say slowly, calmly, "Kitty? I'm already on the way. Just give me a few minutes and I'll be there. Tell your teacher I'll be right down. Can you do that for me, Kitty?"

She gulps, "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

I'm already at the door with the keys to the car in hand, "Alright, I'll be there in ten."

* * *

I get down to the school with minimal difficulty (having walked/flown around town with Angel on the day of our little shopping spree) and enter the grounds just as school lets out. I fight my way through throws of students to get to the entrance. _I'm not here for mystique. I'm here for the teens. Only the teens._ I tell myself as I step into the High School.

The halls are empty and foreboding.

Only a few students linger behind, some still collecting their things from their lockers and others giving extended goodbyes to fellow classmates, friends, and partners. After asking for directions a few times I make my way to Room 284 and open the door to find our X-Men on one side of the room, bruised and sullen, and what I can only assume to be the Brotherhood in the other.

They're not a very fearsome group.

One particularly rotund boy with blonde hair, styled in a crew cut takes up two seats, picking at his teeth (For leftovers, I assume) and next to him are two young boys as different as humanly possible. The one on the far right his long, greasy brown hair and a hard-line for a mouth. He looks like he hasn't washed that denim jacket for a few months and I don't even want to know about his torn up jeans…

The other boy is much neater, with a sharp, black sweater, white-blonde hair, and a haughty smirk on his elf-like features. He's thin as a pencil but something about him tells me he's not quite as sharp as one.

Then there's the smelly little boy in the corner of the room to the very left, crouching on his hind legs like a frog. He almost reminds me of…

"Toad?" I ask skeptically and his head perks up, "Heh heh, yeah? "He asks in a nasally voice, eyeing me like I'm a fly on the wall. "How'd you know?"

No, that can't be right. This kid looks completely different from the Toad I knew so long ago. Still greasy and dirty, yes, but different nonetheless. His voice is squeakier and more…annoying, and he lacks dreadlocks, which the last Toad I knew definitely had.

Interesting.

"Ahem!" Interjects a man's voice before I can say anything, and I turn to see a middle aged man, who is undoubtedly a coach (judging by the sheer width of his beefy neck), standing with his massive arms crossed and a hard look in his eyes.

This will not be easy.

"Oh, umm…" I hesitate, not sure what to say and he rolls his dark grey eyes in derision as he asks, "_You're_ their Guardian?"

"I—yes," I say quickly at the sight of their panicked glances. "What seems to be the problem Mr.—?" I prompt, having neglected to ask his name over the phone.

"Coach Saunders," He barks and I jump at the sudden noise. I forgot how annoying coaches can be. Their volume levels range from "unnecessarily loud" to "you are now deaf I'm screaming so loud."

I quickly recompose myself and straighten up, "Coach Saunders, what seems to be the problem?" I repeat tensely. I don't like this guys' attitude.

"Don't give me that!" He spits. This guy is a teacher?! "You let these _delinquents_ torment my students and then you come here acting like they're perfect little angels!"

"With all due respect, _Coach_," I say mockingly, ignoring the vein pulsing in his neck. "They're just kids. They fight. And if my kids are delinquents then what do you call these boys?" I gesture to the Brotherhood angrily. "It takes two to tango, Mr. Saunders. Your boys are just as guilty as them."

"Your students are the ones to blame here," The Coach says to my complete and utter shock. The X-Men immediately jump up, protesting and shouting in fury and the Coach puts a whistle to his mouth and gives it a deafening blow, rattling my ear drums with the sound. "I saw you kids gangin' up on my boys out there!" He shouts, pointing a threatening finger at my X-Men. "And now you've gotta face the consequences."

The Brotherhood exchanges proud looks.

It's clear the Coach is on their side and nothing I say can help, so I give a sigh and ask in defeat, "What would you have me do?"

"You?" He asks, gritting his crooked teeth. "Nothing. I want them—" He points at the X-men again. "To do community service—" The Coach is forced to raise his voice when the teens once again begin to protest and soon I join them when I realize what he's saying, "_every day_ this week from sun up to sun down."

"Coach, that's not fair!" Scott suddenly jumps up. "We're on break. You can't do that!"

"I can and I will." The Coach says threateningly and I watch tensely as he advances on Scott and pokes a sausage finger into his chest. "Or do you want detention _after _break as well, Summers?"

"Alright," I say, moving to stand between them and my eyes lock with the Coach. "I think you and I need to have a little talk."

Coach Saunders eyes me a long while before blowing a huff of alcohol-drenched air in my face, "Fine. You, boys," He nods to the Brotherhood. "Yer free to go. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

The boys start to leave, each one (with the exception of the new Toad) purposely brushing past me. The Large boy nearly knocks me over and the boy with white hair sneers over his shoulder at me before turning to Saunders and saying in his high pitched, sickly-sweet tone, "There's cross country practice tomorrow, right, Coach?"

The Coach nods with a grunt, but before the boy makes it out the door, Saunders adds, "And try not to be late this time, Pietro." The Coach grins at my startled face when the boys' name clicks in my memory. "We all know you're faster than that."

Pietro smirks knowingly and leaves the room at a leisurely pace.

That little prick was…Magneto's son?

"The rest of you," Saunders barks, his dog-like voice full of malice. "Out in the hall. _Now, now, now!"_

The X-Men scramble out as fast as they can, grim looks on their young faces, as though they already know they've lost. There's no way this guy's gonna get away with this.

"I know you have it in for these kids, Coach Saunders," I say firmly once the door closes. "And mark my words if you continue to target them I _will_ call your supervisors and I will _personally_ complain to the board of education—"

"_Shut up!"_ Saunders hisses, his voice cutting through the chilled air like a knife and my mouth hangs open, insulted. "Excuse me?" I whisper and he slams a large hand on the nearest desk. "I said shut up! I don't care about them. They're free to go, too."

I stare at him all of thirty seconds before I finally get it. It wasn't them he was after.

"What is it you want from me?" I ask cautiously and he smiles with those crooked teeth, an ugly sight. He laughs, avoiding my question and turns his back to me, crossing over the white board with a hand on his hip. Then he lowers his head, shaking it as he chuckles even louder. Then he's quiet.

I've been inching my way towards the door this whole time, but now I stop, uncertain as to what the hell is going on. I have the feeling I've been set up and my heart pretty much stops when a female voice suddenly comes out of his mouth, "You're just as clever as I remembered you, _Ghostgirl_." He/she gives a haughty laugh, deep in her throat. "Such a smartass…"

I whisper the only name that comes to mind, "Mystique."

It all makes sense now. The feminine voice, the obvious favoritism of the Brotherhood…This was a set up and I just fell for it. I suddenly recall what Magneto said about Raven Darkholme being the Headmistress of Bayville High and I give a derisive laugh, "All this just to get my attention." I sneer. "I_ do_ feel special."

I watch as she transforms right in front of my eyes, and I feel my anger burn deep inside of me at the sight of those blazing yellow eyes, mocking me so blatantly.

"You know," She says slowly. "When Magnus told me you were alive, I wasn't very happy about it." She stalks over to me, naked as a newborn baby, towering over me a good foot or so with a disdainful smile playing on her perfectly blue lips. "But now, I couldn't be happier." She begins to pace around me, brushing against me as she says, "I knew you got off easy. I always thought it would be Creed to finish you off." She leans down to whisper in my ear. "Now wouldn't that be fun?"

She must have noticed the sudden look of panic that flashed before my eyes just now because she grins, flashing white teeth at me, her face inches away from her own, "Didn't you know?" She lowers her voice once more. "He's still alive. And I'd bet he'd just _love_ to get his claws on you—"

"What did you call me here for, Mystique?" I snap at last, tired of listening to her threats and petty attempts to frighten me.

"Just wanted to see if it was true what they say," She explains vaguely, moving away from me. "Word spreads fast on Genosha. Pretty soon the entire mutant community will know all about your_ little secret."_

"Yes, well, you'd know all about secrets, wouldn't you, Mystique?" I shoot back with a viciousness I never knew I had, my eyes following her as she moves behind Coach Saunder's desk. I wonder what she did with him…

"Funny you should mention it," She purrs softly, leaning on the desk with one hand and examining her nails on the other; feigning indifference. "I'm not the only one intent on seeking you out. Our shared…_person of interest_, has been looking for you."

"What?" Is all I can whisper at the suggestion. _She must be lying,_ I convince myself. _There's no way—_

"Oh yes," She says as if reading my thoughts. She places both hands on the desk and leans forward for emphasis as she says, "And I know where he is, too."

"You're lying," I mutter, unable to believe anything else.

"Why would I lie?" Mystique hisses at me, a venom in her voice that almost makes me believe her. "Believe it or not," She shakes her scaled head and chews on her next words a moment before saying, "I don't hate you. Never had a reason to. Not that I didn't look for one." She adds and I have to shake my head to try and comprehend what she's saying.

It sounds right. I mean, we never exactly "got along" but I never felt any hatred towards her until recently…Maybe she means it.

"Where is he?" I hear myself asking even though I keep telling myself not to trust her. So many red flags wave in the corners of my eyes but I can't quell my curiosity.

"Home. Russia," She clarifies at my confused look. "A little place called Vanhouvenn."

I make a mental note. I swallow the lump in my throat and ask, "Why are you telling me this?"

She seems to be thinking about this for a long minute. She surveys me, her eyes trying to gage if I'm being genuine or not, "I want to help you."

The second it's out of her mouth, I'm headed for the door. That's all the confirmation I needed. There's just no way she'd want to help me out of the goodness of her heart. And here I thought she was a better liar than that. "I mean it, Hawthorne," She says, jumping out from behind the table and snagging me by the arm before I even reach the door. "Face it, I'm the closest thing to a friend as you'll ever get."

"I've heard about you, Mystique," I respond, phasing out of her grip. "I know what you're like and believe me, I'm _nothing_ like you."

"Fine," She says with the flustered wave of her hands, and she actually seems genuinely frustrated as she goes on to say, "I _meant_ it as an apology. A sign of goodwill. But I see you're no better than the X-Men. Just looking for a fight; for an enemy." She shakes her head and shrugs, "But hey, if that's what you want, far be it from me to stop you. Who knows?" She says with a smirk. "Maybe dear old Azazel will find you first. Though I wonder how he'll feel knowing you didn't seek him out…"

"Thanks for the concern," I say before she can attack me with another round of words. "But I've got things to take care of before I can go chasing the past again. I can't fall," I murmur, mostly to myself. "Not now."

I straighten up and turn toward the door, "Thank you, Raven," I say again, a part of me feeling as though there was some truth to her words. "If you really do mean what you say….I appreciate it."

She watches me go and I glance back once at the door to see an empty class room left in my wake. Only a black crow perches on the window sill. It caws at me, beak snapping forebodingly before it takes to the air; soaring high and out of sight.

* * *

**I know it's weird but I really wanted to bring Toad back into this. Always loved him in X-Men: Evolution. Anyway, more chapters to come. And soon enough Azazel will come back into the picture. But until then, thanks for reading! Reviews are encouraged.**

**~THESCRIBE!;D**


	10. Chapter 10 Weak

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING BUT MY WORDS. NOTHING! Thank you and Enjoy! ;D**

Chapter 10: Weak

"C'mon guys, we're leaving," Is all I say when I leave the class room. The teenagers crowd around me asking questions like, "What happened?" "Are we in trouble?" "What did he say?" "Do we really have to do community service?"

"No," reply to the last one, but say nothing else. I'm debating on whether or not to tell them that it was actually Mystique in there. But what would be the point? And besides, that would lead to some uncomfortable questions. One's I don't have the time or energy to answer. I suddenly feel more tired than I did when I couldn't get to sleep.

"Wait, what?" Scott is saying as we all head to the parking lot. "Why not? What did you say?"

"Did you, like, threaten him or something?" Kitty asks, looking as if she's really hoping that's the answer. I smirk and say, "Something like that."

It's a complete lie, but it's better than the complicated truth.

"Hey," I say once we're all jammed in the car. "What do you guys think about Starbucks?"

My question is met by excited chatter, "I'll take that as a yes."

I reach for the wheel and Kitty, who had leapt into the passenger seat when we left, catches sight on my new nail polish, "Oh, Nightshade!"

"Oh, yeah," I say absently, forgetting I even had it on. "I like it. Purple's my favorite color." Though it's more of a purple-blue if you really look at it…

"I noticed," Kitty comments with a smirk as we pull out of the school parking lot. Where's the Starbucks, again? "It suits you, _Nightshade."_

I look at her, meeting her smiling eyes and I feel a slow smirk pull at the corner of my mouth. "It does, doesn't it?" I mumble, returning my gaze to the road.

_Nightshade…_

* * *

I've been sitting here for hours, my leg bouncing up and down like some kind of drug addict. Too much coffee, I suppose.

No, in truth…I'm fighting.

I'm fighting to keep from doing something really, really, **really** stupid right now.

I want to go.

I know it's probably the worst idea in the world, but I want to go so badly. I have to see him. He's alive. He's alive and I can see him. I can take a jet, can't I? I could fly it, I'm sure. All I need to do is figure out the autopilot. I can look up the location online and-and program it into the jet's navigation systems.

If I can even figure it out.

Or maybe I don't need to. Forge (the weird guy who works on all the mechanics in the Danger Room, but I'll get to him later) isn't the sharpest tool in the shed. Not common sense-wise. If I can trick him into doing it for me somehow….

I suddenly jump up from the couch and begin pacing the room.

What am I even saying? I can't go! I made a promise to myself that I would _stay here;_ let it go. Build a foundation, find a sanctuary. Things haven't even settled down yet and I want to go chasing what could very well be a clever lie from Mystique.

No. I can't go. I won't go.

It's not worth it.

I'm staying.

* * *

"…And so," Continues the man at the podium, his hands sweeping out dramatically. "It is our job…no it is our _moral obligation_ to seek out these monsters among us." The man's sharp eyes sweeping over the crowd of humans, hanging onto his every word. His voice slows, taking long, dramatic pauses as he concludes his speech, "And keep our cities…our homes…_our children_…safe….from all who mean them harm...Thank you."

The crowd erupts in appreciative applause (much to my abhorrence) as Senator Kelly steps off the podium to grasp the hand of a man with graying-blonde hair and a goatee; about the same age as him. I recognize the man to be Worthington II. I lean over to Angel and murmur, "Your father seems to have a pretty strong influence here."

Angel sighs deep in his throat as his father starts over, followed by the Senator himself, "That he does…Ah, hello, father!" Warren greets the man, his entire demeanor changing from dark and brooding to bright and proud in a second. Impressive. He turns to Kelly, "Senator, it's great to see you!"

"And you, my boy," The political activist returns, nodding his head as stiffly as he takes Warrens' hand. Could it be he suspects Warren to be a Mutant? His searching eyes turn to me and they seem to lighten, "And who is this lovely young lady?"

"I don't know," Says Worthington II, though the question wasn't directed towards him. His eyes turn to Angel and I feel shocked at the pure hostility behind his father's gaze as he asks tensely, "_Who is she, Warren?"_

"My name is Elizabeth, Sir," I speak up for myself, offering my hand and he takes it without hesitation. I know an argument-waiting-to-happen when I see one. "Elizabeth Hawthorne. It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"I don't believe I've ever seen you around Bayville before." Senator Kelly says, a smile on his face. But something in his tone is not so pleasant. He's probing; trying to figure me out. I've faced down some pretty scary mutants in my day, but this human…there's something so threatening about this eyes. Like he can see right through me. I feel a cold sweat break out in the palms of my hands and I wipe them on my pants absentmindedly before saying with a forced smile, "I'm new here."

"Now, why on earth would you move to a place like this?" Is Kelly's next question and I give pause at this. He tilts his head to the side; questioning. I was right, he is testing me.

"I grew up in the desert." I explain, trying to sound as believable as possible. "Back in Colorado. I—came here once when I was little and I fell in love with the Bayville area." I add, looking around at the park, where this little anti-mutant rally was held, with a big smile. "As soon as I got the chance, I moved down here."

"And where, perchance," Asks Kelly, turning to Warrens' father with that same, penetrating gaze. "Is this young lady living, Mr. Worthington?"

Warrington II turns to his son, "I—Well, I'm not sure…son?"

"Why, at the Xavier Institute, of course!" Angel replies as if this is common knowledge. I don't like where this is going.

"What would you be doing there, Ms. Hawthorne?" Asks Kelly softly and I resist the urge to look away from those stormy eyes. "You are not…_gifted_, as they say. _Are you?" _The force and hidden meaning behind that last sentence renders me silent. _He knows._ Or at least suspects that we are mutants. That the institute harbors mutants.

"Actually…" Warren speaks up on my behalf before my silence can stretch too far into the danger zone. "Ms. Hawthorne's correct title is _Professor_."

I look up at him sharply and he winks at me, "Yeah, I talked to Xavier, Elizabeth. He's accepted your application! You're a teacher now!"

I exhale, my eyes wide as Warren throws his arms around me, and I start to laugh. Genius. Why didn't I think of that? My eyes shift to Senator Kelly and the breathy laugh freezes in my throat. He's not smiling. Warren pulls back and I plaster on another fake smile, my breath coming out a bit shaky. I chance a glance over at Kelly to see the smile has returned to his face as well.

He moves over to me and I move back, but not fast enough. He reaches a hand across my shoulders and claps a hand on my left shoulder, trapping me under his arm. "Congratulations! Let's celebrate, on me!"

I wriggle out of his grasp, running into Angel as I do so, and start sputtering excuses, "It would be an honor, Senator. But I'm afraid I've got some errands to run. What with Christmas being four days away and all…"

"Nonsense," Kelly says, keeping his distance this time though his eyes are stuck to me like glue. "I insist."

"Let the kids go, Robert." Says Worthington II uneasily. "No doubt they have some catching up to do, eh?"

I find myself nodding, and Angel opens his mouth to say something but Kelly cuts him off, "Actually, Mr. Worthington, I was hoping to speak with you and your son, for a moment. Concerning a problem with a certain—" He grapples for the word. "Investment."

Warren and I exchange a glance and he takes my hand for a brief moment and leans down to whisper something only I can hear, "There's a package waiting for you at Barbara's Antiquity." He moves back, taking with him the scent of pine and a faint trace of cologne, to look me in the eye as he says loudly and with a broad smile, "I'll meet up with you at the Mansion, alright?"

I nod, pulling my coat tighter around me as the cold look in Kelly's eye scans me over. I wonder if he heard…

"So," Warren says nonchalantly when no one makes a move to leave, Worthington II waiting for a motionless Kelly to take the lead. "We going?"

"Mr. Worthington," Kelly says, giving the other man the "go ahead," and Worthington II takes my hand in both of his, "It was a pleasure, Ms. Hawthorne."

I nod and thank him quickly, hoping to get away from Kelly as soon as possible. No such luck. The Senator takes my hand and brings me in for a brief hug, which I involuntarily resist, fidgeting when his breath brushes by my ear, "Beware," He whispers. "the company you keep."

Then he lets go. And just as quickly as they'd come, the two powerful men—and a rather confused Angel—leave me on my own with nothing but a task in mind and a pit in my stomach.

I turn around, realizing most people have dispersed leaving only a few stragglers, talking in the snow and…my breath catches and I turn away quickly. An MRD truck sits on the curb, nearest the podium, a mere three yards or so away. And standing around it are a number of armed guards; all staring at me.

I walk briskly away, nearly crying out in shock when another MRD truck passes right by me as I prepare to cross the street. I hadn't even been paying attention. That's what I get for J-Walking…

Ignoring the odd looks I get, I pull my coat around me and cross the street; only to become lost when I realize I don't know where Barbara's Antiquity is.

I enter a thrift shop where I ask for directions. Armed with a napkin (detailing the location of the antique shop) and a random pocket knife I'd picked up at the thrift shop, I head out. It doesn't take long for me to feel a bit self conscious and more than a little paranoid as I find myself passing by more and more MRD cars and officers. It's making me nervous.

Ten minutes later, I'm stumbling into Barbara's Antiquity, my legs stiff as boards and hands aching from the cold. I remove my gloves and blow on my hands as I go to the front. At the register is a short man wearing a painfully obvious toupee and a set of teeth that appear to be trying to get away from him, splaying out almost horizontally in his jaw.

I approach him, bearing as friendly a smile as I can manage, "Hello, I was hoping to pick up a package?" The man simply stares at me. One of his eyes drifts off in another direction. "From Worthington III?"

He suddenly turns his head a quarter to the right and says, "Oh, sorry! I didn't see you there." He gestures above my left shoulder and I turn around to see a plasma screen TV on the wall as he says, "Good game, this one."

"Oh, yeah," I agree, turning my gaze away from the Football game. "Um, so I was wondering—"

My words drift off abruptly when, out of the corner of my eye, I see the front door open and in step a group of MRD officers—three of them. I feel my heart plunge into my stomach and quickly turn back to the clerk when one of them catches my eye.

"Yes, you were saying?" The clerk is prompting, snapping his fingers irritably at me. "Right!" I gasp, moving the hair from my face so I can get a good peripheral of the MRD's, now lingering nearby. "Um…a package. My friend—Worthington the Third—left me a-a package."

"Oooohhh," The guy says slowly as I bounce on my heels nervously. I chance a glance behind me just in time to see one of the MRD's nudge his buddy and nod his head towards me. I turn away. "You have to pick it up back there." He points over my head, and I duck, narrowly avoiding a punctured eye. There, in the far back of the store (roughly the size of Walmart) is a sign that says: Pick Up/Drop Off.

"Right," I say again in a loud whisper. I can't stop looking at them. They're not here to shop that's for sure, though they linger idly at the shelves nearby. But how could they know I'm a mutant? I'm so used to people constantly telling me that I look so normal, that it's weird that two times in one day I've already been discovered. Is it that obvious?

I start heading toward the Pick Up/Drop Off area, and, as I predicted, the MRD guys start following a ways behind me. I try to lose them, my breathing quickening as I duck behind shelves lined with snow globes, mirrors, old painting and other trinkets. I keep this up for a while and by the time I reach the front desk, I see that I've lost them.

Out of breath but feeling slightly relieved, I find myself in the presence of another man; taller and gangly with long, greasy, brown hair, "I'm guessing you're not Barbara." I say stupidly and he stares at me, looking bored out of his mind before he speaks in an impossibly low voice, responding with a dull, "Ha. Ha."

I clear my throat and try again, "Actually I was hoping to pick up a package from Warren Worthington III, please."

"One minute," Is his slurred response and he disappears to look for my package. I chance a glance over my shoulder but only an older lady with long fingernails peers at some dusty books in a shelf nearby. I stare at her nails. So long…Long like Creeds' only not as sharp.

I shiver and turn away just as the guy returns with my package, "You Hawthorne?"

"Yes," I say and just barely manage to catch the small box as the guy drops it in my hands, saying in a dull, monotonous voice, "Thank you, have a nice day…"

"Thanks." Is all I say and start to head towards the front of the store, but think better of it. They could still be waiting for me.

"Do you have a back door?" I ask. The guy points, looking as if he'd love nothing more than to be left alone and follow his slightly crooked finger to an ancient looking door to the right of me. I thank him again and, with one last glance behind me, step through the back door—

And right into the chest of an MRD officer.

Before I can even assess the situation, I'm swung around and shoved back into an alley where I hit the dirty wall, my package falling to the ground. I hope there isn't glass in there…

I press myself back against the wall, wide-eyed and panting heavily as one of the MRD's closes the door, and positions himself directly in front of it. The two other guys flank me on either side; not that it was necessary on the left (since it's a dead end).

"What do you want?" I ask feebly, weighing my options immediately. The guys on either side of me have their guns drawn but they're aimed at the ground. That means they're not here to kill me, right? The third guy blocking the door—a brute of a man with scars raking his face where he must have been clawed by something (or someone)—approaches me. I read the name, Col. Trask, printed on his uniform.

"Johnson?" The scarred man says to the guy on the right, ignoring me. The man straightens up with a, "Yes, sir?"

"Your scanner."

"Yes, Sir." The man holsters his gun and removes a square device from his utility belt. It looks almost like the ones from the grocery store that scan items. The man, Trask, moves in on me. They're going to scan me, to see if I'm a Mutant. And then, when it reads positive, they'll hunt me down and take me to one of those prisons everyone tells me about; warns me about.

I can't let them scan me.

I dive to the right in an attempt to bulldoze Trasks' subordinate (Johnson, as his name tag states) but he's quicker than I thought, and catches me easily, shoving me back against the wall before stepping back and training his gun on me, his entire body becoming supercharged with adrenaline. This guy's probably seen some shit.

"Hold still, please, Ms. Hawthorne." Says Trask, his voice as cruel as the thin line that makes his mouth. "I'd hate to have to restrain you."

I freeze, my hand going to my pocket where my long-forgotten pocket knife sits just waiting to be whipped out…But they're still part of law enforcement. Attacking the MRD would be like punching a police officer...at the police department. It's no use.

Trask runs the scanner down the length of my body, his eyes boring into mine as if daring me to make another break for it. Then we wait for ten, tense seconds before the screen lights up, glowing in bright red. Trask looks down on me, and the second that cruel smile breaks into a smirk, I know I'm busted.

"Cuff 'er." Trask commands and his men start toward me. Nothing's holding me back now. I send Trask hurtling into the door with an energy blast the side of a soccer ball and turn on Johnson, as his partner seems to have frozen in fear to the left of me.

I fire another energy blast at Johnson this time, but he narrowly dodges it, reaching for his gun once more. I put up a shield in front of me and knock the gun out of his hand. I'm about to blast him clear down the alley way, when someone tackles me from the side and pins me to the wall with strong arms, twisting my left wrist painfully to the side while his barrel chest presses against my front.

"I warned you." Trask hisses in my ear, as I fight to regain my concentration, the pain clouding my thoughts. "Michaels!" He barks suddenly. "Get the collar!"

Michaels, the guy on the left who froze earlier, miraculously comes alive and fumbles for something at his own belt. He withdraws it and approaches cautiously as I continue to struggle. Whatever that collar is, I don't want it anywhere near me. If I could just get my arm loose...

"Now, Michaels!" Trask shouts into my ear, not budging an inch when I try pushing him off with my shoulders, screaming, "Get off me!" Over and over.

Michaels lunges forward and with a faint, click, I feel the collar clasp tightly around my throat. To my surprise, the second the collar is on, Trask let's go of me and Michaels and Johnson back off as well (Michaels much faster than his partner). I stumble to get my bearings, gripping my aching wrist with murder in my eyes. I've had my wrist broken before. It's not fun. Though my wrist isn't broken—or sprained—it still hurt. A lot.

I lift both hands above my head and bring them down, fuelled by my anger but when I do—

Nothing happens.

"What?" I gasp, my breath coming in short as I look down at my hands expectantly. Why don't I feel anything? I should be lighting up by now, feeling some sort of buzz or heat; something! I throw a punch, but Trask side steps me and I only end up stumbling into the opposite wall, shuddering in the cold. My knees feel weak and my head feels light.

"What did you do to me?" I hear myself asking, turning to face them with an accusatory glare.

"That collar you're wearing is the future of mutant stabilization," Trask replies, catching his breath. "You should be proud, Ms. Hawthorne, to be our first _successful_ test subject."

"I am_ not_ a test subject!" I scream at him and whip around, fist raised. I manage to land one good hit on Trasks' jaw, my hand pounding from the blow, before Johnson tackles me to the ground, his full weight coming down on my chest. We wrestle in the snow-slicked ground, the sludge staining my clothes and speckling my face and I turn on my stomach, trying to get enough distance to kick the bastard in the face. Then I see the pocket knife; the one I'd bought at the thrift store on my way over.

I'd forgotten all about it. It must have fallen out of my pocket!

I reach for it, clawing at the ground as someone tries to get a grip on my legs, but before my hand can clasp around it, Michaels kicks the knife out of reach and, in one quick move, Johnson turns me over and lands a jarring blow on my right cheek. My entire skull seems to rattle and I abruptly halt my struggling, my head falling to the side.

For a while, I'm motionless.

I haven't been knocked out but I _feel_ like I have. I can't move, for all my senses screaming at me to get up. The pain is a numb one and my nose feels like my sinuses have just burst. I can feel my cheek heating up like fire. I hear Trask barking orders above me and I can feel Emerst turning me over, yanking my arms behind my back, but I don't lift a hand to stop it.

I open my eyes to see Angel's package lying a few feet away, lying motionless in the snow; just like me. I feel tears sting my eyes. I might as well be back in my body, I'm so weak. Without my powers I'm nothing. Maybe it's better if I _didn't_ try to find my body. Whoever is taking care of it, must know what they're doing. More than me. So useless...

I feel a pair of hand cuffs snap around my wrists.

" 'Professor...' " My mind whispers as I'm lifted off the ground. We start walking towards the entrance/exit of the alley way. An MRD van pulls into the opening, blocking out my view of the street beyond. Freedom.

" 'Azazel…' "

* * *

**More chapters coming up soon! Until then...**

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	11. Chapter 11 Discovery

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING BUT MY WORDS. Thank you and Enjoy ;D**

Chapter 11: Discovery

I'm about ten feet from being unceremoniously thrown into the back of an MRD van when a shadow flies overhead.

We come to a staggering halt and I find the will to lift my heavy head toward the sky, a flicker of hope sparking inside me. Snow kisses my face, cooling off my burning cheek, which has begun to bleed, but the sky seems clear and empty. Still... "Angel!" I cry out once before a hand forcibly covers my mouth.

"_Get her in the van."_ Trask commands, his voice slow and harsh. He draws a gun and removes his other filthy human hand from my face. His companions start to haul me away and for a moment, I allow myself to hope, trying to slow our progress by digging my heels into the ground, "Let go of me!" I shout, hoping to attract some attention, incase Angel didn't hear me. "Let go!"

Johnson and Michaels waste no time in throwing me into the van, where I land on my shoulder with nothing to slow my fall. "Angel!" I cry before the doors slam shut with a shuddering bang. I get up on my knees, using my shoulder and head to lift me up, and listen.

I'm about to give in to defeat once more when, after a minute or two, I hear a muffled cry from the front of the van and then another from outside. I give a startled gasp when something rams into the side of the van, knocking me over onto my side once more. If the van hadn't been positioned just right in the opening of the alley, it probably would have tipped over.

All is silent once more, and I pause, unmoving.

I flinch when I hear footsteps coming from outside and lift my head, an awkward movement that strains my neck. "Angel?" I whisper, getting to my knees again when I see a shadow move before the closed doors of the MRD van.

The doors open with such force that the entire van shakes, throwing me off balance with it. There's no way that's Angel. And when I regain my balance and look up again, I find that I'm very, horribly right.

The marred, seething creature that now steps into the van with sharp, clawed feet is nothing like Warren. His wings are black and leathery, streaked with red veins and tipped with sharp claws at the ends. The van creaks noisily as his massive frame fills the automobile, even in crouching as low as he has to, his chest heaving—probably from pummeling those MRD's.

I wonder with a shiver if he killed them...

He moves toward me like I'm a wounded, wild animal that could attack at any second, his reptilian eyes taking in every move I make; reminding me very much of a lizard, crawling around like that. There's something not right about this guy. I have the feeling he's not all there in the head.

I fall back when he reaches out for me with a scaly hand, claws like knifes moving towards me. "Don't—" I breathe, scrambling away as best I can, my arms protesting beneath me. "Don't touch me."

He withdraws his hand, his head twitching slightly.

"Who are you?" I ask, sitting up with my back against the far end of the van.

"You know who I am." The creature growls in a voice so inhuman, I start to understand why Human's insist we're monsters.

"No," I shake my head slowly, my eyes never leaving his; so filled with hate… "I knew who you _were._ Who you are _now_?"

The man I once knew to be my best friend lurches forward and grasps me by the front of my snow-mixed-with-mud-drenched coat and lifts me as high as the cramped space will allow, my body sliding beneath his, but I don't panic or kick out at him; not even when he hisses, "I _am_ what you _made_ me."

I let those words sink in, my insides squirming with guilt and regret, before I whisper, "Are you here to kill me?"

At this, the creature smirks, an action that seems to crack the skin around what used to be a set of full, curvy lips.

Then he goes for my throat.

* * *

The second they arrive I run into the jet, ducking past everyone and seating myself into my seat where I curl up with my knees to my chest. A few people try to ambush me with questions (Warren, Rogue, and Nightcrawler included) but the Professor and Jean fend them off.

The ride to the mansion is silent.

Arriving at the mansion, not so.

I rush past Scott and Bobby and Kitty and Storm, all trying to greet me in the landing bay, deep within the earth beneath the basketball court, and it's only when my eyes find Logan's (just barely making his way into the hallway leading to the hangar) that I burst into tears, flinging my arms around his neck as I bury my mud-streaked face into his shoulder.

I cling to him for dear life and his arms encircle me securely, protectively.

My breathing is quick and frantic; my shoulders shake and my eyes are wide and brimming with the tears I've been suppressing all this time. He doesn't let go. Not even after I've calmed down, my breathing returning to normal and the tears drying on my cheeks. Eventually, however, I pry myself out of his grasp, choking slightly on the lump in my throat.

Shortly after, the other X-Men leave the hangar (most likely having discussed my discovery in the alley) and find the two of us standing there; Logan with his hand on my arm to steady me, and me with my arms wrapped around myself, my head low.

The Professor approaches me tentatively and gently takes my hand. I look at him through puffy eyes and my mouth tightens into a firm line, "Alright." I say at last. "I'm ready to talk."

* * *

"They can't get away with this Charles." Logan is saying, or rather, shouting.

"He's right," Warren interjects before Xavier has the chance to offer calming words of deterrence. "If I know Kelly and my father, they'll take this as a personal insult and broadcast it as an attack on humans. They're going to keep coming until they get enough people to rally behind them. It's only a matter of time!"

"And just what would you suggest?" Storm says, pausing from her pacing by the window to stare at Warren incredulously. "If we were to strike first it would only strengthen their campaign!"

"She has a point, Warren," Hank says as Warren looks away from Storm, a look of embarrassment and something else (I can't quite put my finger on it) on his handsome features. "The MRD are expecting retaliation. They _want_ us to incite a war."

"A war that _they_ started!" Scott says, his face flushed in anger.

The room erupts in an intense dispute; more than half of the room wants to fight back, the rest argue that it would be incredibly stupid and reckless to bother. And I'm just sitting here, my face aching and my head buzzing from the pain killers. I run a finger over the tiny bandages that seal the cut on my cheek. I've been staring out the window, watching the snow fall, and only vaguely listening this entire time.

I only look up when Dimitri takes my hand from my face and gently sets it down on the couch, where he continues to hold my hand in his. I give a tiny smile and return to the conversation. Logan, Scott, Warren and a few others are trying to leave and the Professor, Jean, Storm and Hank are attempting to get them to stay.

"Do what you want," Logan growls, snatching his arm away from Hank, who is physically trying to bar him from leaving the room. "I'm not just gonna let this go."

"Yes," I speak up for the first time since relaying all the gritty details of the almost-kidnapping, getting to my feet for emphasis. "You are."

"Liz, they hurt you!" Rogue exclaims, reaching out for me with a gloved hand and she takes hold of my forearm and pushes back my sleeve to reveal a hand-shaped bruise encircling my wrist like a big, purple bracelet. "They _did_ this to you!"

"I think we all know it could have been a lot worse," I murmur, locking eyes with Logan as I readjust the sleeve back over my wrist. "This is a fight that can't be won with brute force alone. We have to smart about this." My gaze turns from firm and harsh to pleading, "Stay. There are still some things we need to discuss."

"Like what?" Tabitha asks uncertainly, having been one of the ones itching for a fight.

"Glenn." I say simply.

"What's there to discuss?" Angel asks, irritated that we're not going already. "He saved your life. That must mean he still cares about you."

It _would_ make sense, but nonetheless I shake my head. "No, he hates my guts. He blames me for what happened to him." I breathe a sigh, remembering how I'd thought Glenn was going to tear my throat out back in the van. But at the last second, went for the collar instead, tearing it off with his razor-like teeth. "What I want to know is why he rescued me when he hates me so much."

The room goes still for a moment. The diverting question seems to have done its' job in distracting the others from wanting to fight. Everyone seems lost in thought for a moment and I allow myself to sit back down, warn out from all the excitement.

Finally, Hank says what no one else has the nerve to suggest, "It must have something to do with Sinister."

"I had a similar thought." Says the Professor, who seems to have been lost in his own thoughts. If he hadn't received my mental shout-out, I'd probably have been picked up by another MRD squad.

"But what would he want from you?" Rogue asks, moving to sit beside me.

"Revenge, probably." I say bluntly, more annoyed by the fact than unnerved by it. "I _did_ stab him in the neck once..."

"That doesn't make sense." Bobby says, looking confused as usual.

"Oh, it was with a syringe. Not a knife." I assure him but Bobby shakes his head, saying, "No, no, I get that. But why would he save you…if he just wants revenge? Wouldn't he have, like, taken you out right then or at least—I don't know, kidnapped you, or-or something…?"

Bobby lets his words trail of as he's met with nothing but stares. But the Professor acknowledges one sure truth, saying, "You may have a point, Bobby. The question is: why? Or rather: Why not? Why not exact his revenge while he had the chance?"

Suddenly, I feel all eyes on me and I look up in a mixture of confusion and annoyance, "Don't look at me." I say. "I don't know and I don't care. All I want is to forget about it, okay?" I say, getting to my feet once more. I don't know why, but I feel incredibly antsy; like I need to get away from everyone for a while. "And I don't want anyone going on any sort of…_manhunt_ either."

I'm looking at you, Logan.

I exit the room and pause outside the door. Sure enough, the arguing resumes.

Figures.

I walk into the living room, vacated due to the verbal battle raging on in the Professor's study, intent on throwing myself on the couch and resting for a while. However, before I reach the couch, a beeping noise catches my ear.

I look around, confused for a moment. Then I hear it again. And again, more insistent this time. I follow the noise and discover it's coming from the long forgotten computer that I once sat at for nearly two nights in a row.

I blink, immediately suspicious, and move toward the computer. The screen is black and a single, vertical line blinks at me. For a moment, nothing happens and I shake my head, deciding it's just a malfunction. Then the computer beeps again, much louder than before and I watch , startled, as it begins to type on it's own. I read the following words: HAVE YOU GUESSED THE RIDDLE YET?

"What?" I whisper and then quickly glance over my shoulder to make sure I'm alone before responding with: WHAT RIDDLE?

3274743292

I give an exasperated sigh. I gave up on that a long time ago. What's the point?

Still, I type back: WHAT IS THE ANSWER?

THE CODE IS THE KEY BOARD TO FIND WHAT YOU SEEK

That's new.

I frown but for some reason, I can't tear myself away. I hate riddles, surprises, and guessing. Anything that isn't certain…But this seems like something I can crack.

It's obvious that the code is referring to the numbers Erik gave me. And the code is apparently the key to…what? That part I don't understand. Information, maybe. And the last bit—BOARD TO FIND WHAT YOU SEEK—means that I need to board a plane or something to look for…it. Whatever **it** is.

What really is bothering me, however, is the punctuation.

Why isn't there a comma or period or anything between KEY and BOARD? Was whoever messaging me in a rush? Or was it done on purpose? What could it mean, if it was?

I sit back in my chair, stroking my cheek absently as I read the sentence over and over in my head, using the computer to help my thought process: THE CODE IS THE KEY

THE CODE IS THE KEY The computer confirms.

THE KEY TO WHAT? I type back.

ACCESS DENIED

I almost flip the screen over, I'm so pissed. Access denied, indeed!

I return to the drawing board, typing: WHAT AM I LOOKING FOR?

ACCESS DENIED

I take a few calming breaths before returning to the keyboard, typing: WHERE IS THE PERIOD BETWEEN KEY AND BOARD?

THE CODE IS THE KEYBOARD TO FIND WHAT YOU SEEK The computer repeats but there's something wrong with that sentence. I type my concerns: WHERE IS THE SPACE BETWEEN KEY AND BOARD?

THERE IS NONE

"What?" I breathe aloud, and throw my hands on the keyboard. That was definitely not the answer I was expecting. I'm about to ask who the hell is messaging me and what they mean by THERE IS NONE, but the screen suddenly goes dark, the blinking light disappearing from view.

"What?!" I repeat, giving the screen a little shake. Nothing happens. I try restarting it, clutching the screen with my hands; searching, but it just boots up like normal and a search engine greets me.

Looks like Q&A's over.

I stare at the screen for a while, mind racing. A head ache starts to rear its ugly head and I bury my face in my hands in exasperation.

"Are you okay?"

I jump about a foot in the air, sending my chair rolling backwards as I stand to find a startled Kitty standing a ways behind me, her cell phone in her hands.

"Whoa!" She says, raising her hands to calm me and I relax, bringing a hand to my head once more. "Easy there!"

"Sorry, Kitty," I murmur in embarrassment, checking to make sure the screen has been left blank. When I confirm this I turn back to the teenager, watching me curiously and ask, "What's going on?"

"Ugh! I couldn't stay in there another minute!" She tells me, plopping down on the couch with her cell phone, twiddling her thumbs at an alarming speed. "It's so dumb. It's not like we can do anything, anyway. We've already lost."

I feel a pang in my abdomen and my hand goes to my diaphragm where a sharp pain has spiked. It saddens me how she can say something so despairing and just…accept it. Like it's common knowledge. Maybe it is, and we just don't know it yet. I can see why everyone wants to fight.

It's the only thing they _can _do.

Kitty suddenly throws out a curse word and I glance at her sharply, disapprovingly, and she offers an apologetic smile from the couch."Sorry," She says, sitting up from her previous, slumped position. She gives her cell an irritated shake, groaning as she says, "My stupid keyboard's acting up."

_Keyboard._

THERE IS NO SPACE…

"Kitty?" I ask in an odd voice, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Could I…see your phone?" Kitty looks up from her cell and gives me a curious look, but eventually shrugs and (after deleting or sending whatever it was she was writing) hands over the small cellular device.

I take it in my hands and observe the keys.

"It's a total fossil, I know," Kitty is saying beside me, flipping on the television to a news channel (going on about some huge blizzard or something) as I slowly sit down beside her, but I hardly hear her. On the keys, beneath the numbers, are letters; 3 under some numbers and 4 under others. "I've been meaning to get a new one but the Professor says…"

I tune her out.

THE CODE IS THE KEY BOARD TO FIND WHAT YOU SEEK. THE CODE IS THE KEY. BOARD TO FIND WHAT YOU SEEK. THE KEY. BOARD TO. KEY. BOARD. KEYBOARD.

Keyboard.

I start typing 3274743292, but all that comes out of the code is: Dapgpgdawa….that doesn't make sense.

THE CODE IS THE KEY.

"Scott's lucky he has a part time job. He can afford his _own_ phone…" I hear Kitty saying distantly as I clear the screen, thinking back to the first time Kitty explained texting to me and how you have to press a number a certain number of times to spell out a word.

THE CODE IS THE KEY. BOARD...

Let's see…3 twice is E…and 7 four times is S…And that'll be another S since it repeats…3 twice again is E and finally…9 twice is—

"Maybe I'll get a new phone for Christmas," Kitty says as I continue to stare at the letters on the tiny, glowing screen before me; processing. This can't be for real. There's no way…"Wouldn't that be cool, Liz?"

I stand up, slowly as a tingling, jittery feeling spreads from my fingertips to my stomach and then to my toes. I can feel a steady heat creep up the back of my neck and my hands are shaking. "Liz?" Kitty repeats, standing up with me, and I turn to her suddenly, my eyes involuntarily glowing with a rage so sudden that I don't blame Kitty for taking a staggering step back.

"Can you fly the jet?" I manage to say, my voice sounding thick and foreign to my own ears. It's taking all my power to keep my voice steady but I have to remain calm. Must remain calm…

"Uhhh…no," Kitty admits, looking a bit embarrassed, then she says, "But Rogue knows how to set it on autopilot and everything."

"Perfect!" I whisper, thrusting Kitty's phone back into her hands. "Thanks, Kitty!"

"Wait!" She calls, following me down the hall. I'm going to find Rogue. Hopefully they've all finished with their arguing by now… "Are you, like, going on some kinda _secret mission?"_

I stop dead in my tracks and turn around to look at her, my eyes finally returning to normal as I say pleadingly, "Kitty…please—"

"Relax!" Kitty reassures me before I can even beg her to keep quiet. "You're not the only one to sneak off when no one's looking. By the way," She adds, lowering her voice. "Rogue's in her room. We left at the same time when Logan started throwing things. But you'd better get going now. I'm still looking forward to getting your present on Christmas Eve." She adds with a wink and a smile.

I can only stare at her. Grateful doesn't even encompass my feelings toward Kitty right now.

She seems to understand this because she giggles and says, "I'll go distract the senior citizens...And Bobby. Now get outta here!" She starts to flounce away, and I start to head in the opposite direction (where I know Rogue's room is) but before I do, Kitty suddenly calls back, "And bring me a souvenir!"

I smile to myself and wave but when I turn back, my smile is replaced by a thin line of determination.

BOARD TO FIND WHAT YOU SEEK.

I intend to.

* * *

**More chapters coming up sooner than you think. And Happy New Year Everybody!**

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	12. Chapter 12 Epiphany

**IT'S TIME...**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN *Sigh* YOU KNOW THE REST...Enjoy! ;D**

Chapter 12: Epiphany

"Are...you sure about this?" Rogue asks after a long while of silence and I inhale deeply, letting my head rest against the chair.

"No," I respond in complete honesty. "But I have to know." We've been flying over the ocean for a while now. It won't be long before we reach our destination and I'm starting to lose my nerve. But just a little.

"Know what?"

I look at Rogue, who sits across from me at the pilot's seat, her eyes searching and I chew on my lip. I never did tell her why we were going, thinking it would be best if she didn't know, but….I think I can trust her with this. "It's about Nathaniel Essex…Sinister." I clarify and she frowns, asking, "What does Sinister have ta' to with Magneto?"

"I don't know." I reply, tugging at the collar of my X-Men suit nervously as I stare out over the water. "But it's too…convenient. First Essex sends his goons to rescue me, then Magneto sends me this secret message..." I shake my head ponderously. "There's something going on here and I'm going to find out what."

She sits in silent thought for a moment before asking, "D'you think it has anything to do with—with yer body being missing?"

My head snaps up, my hand falling from my cheek, where I'd been unconsciously touching my cut again, "What was that?"

"Well," Rogue says uneasily. "Essex is obsessed with Mutant genetics, right?" I nod and she continues, compulsively tapping her finger against the controls. "What if—what if _he _has your body? And Magneto knows something about it?"

I sit back in my chair, having sat forward on its edge, as I let what she's saying sink in. I hadn't thought of that before. "If that's true," I say, my chest rising and falling at a fast pace, as I turn my attention back to the window where an Island approaches in the distance, my eyes narrowing, "Then I'm going to have more than words for Erik."

* * *

He comes out to greet us, wearing that same ridiculous cape, helmet and smug look on his face.

I'm on the ramp before the jet even lands and, when the ramp takes too long to lower, I phase through and touch down (with surprising gracefulness) on the hard, metal balcony of Magneto's palace. He holds out his hands, palms up, in welcome; a peaceful gesture that only infuriates me all the more. Before I even think about the sheer stupidity of my actions, I charge for him; eyes and hands glowing as I cry out, "You lying bastard!"

Metal bands shoot from the floor and wrap around my arms and legs, effectively holding me in place. I never_ really_ expected to reach him, but it still pisses me off to be caught so easily.

"I was wondering when you would came back to us." Says Erik, approaching me fearlessly despite my thrashing and cursing. Rogue jumps off the ramp and starts toward me but Erik lifts a halting hand; I don't even have to look to know she's been caught as well. "I was beginning to think you would _never_ crack the code."

"Why?" I demand, eyes still glowing in ultraviolet light. "_Why?!"_

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." Is Magneto's stoic reply, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Enough of your games, Erik!" I thunder, too agitated to concentrate on a full-on attack. I've never felt this out of control before, but I can't stop myself. I just want to hit him with anything—_everything_ I've got, but I'm having trouble focusing my energy on phasing out. "Just tell me the truth. Why didn't you tell me about Essex?"

He takes his time answering, pursing his lips coyly before saying, "It was not your time to know."

I lunge forward, somehow managing to phase out of the restraints holding me back. Hands glowing and eyes burning, I try to land a blow to his face but something catches hold of me; a force unlike anything I've ever felt before, and I freeze in place, hand outstretched, every muscle in my body rigid and lined with a red, glowing haze. I feel like a taxidermy squirrel. Like the one's people have playing golf or something stupid like that in their houses.

Magneto glances lazily over my shoulder at someone I can't see, and his face breaks out into a languid smile. He extends an arm, "Wanda."

A girl in her late teens with long, black hair appears from behind me and moves to her father's side, her own arm extended towards me, and I realize she's the one who froze me: The Scarlet Witch. Magneto's daughter. I fight against her telekinetic grip but it only tightens around me. I can't even phase away.

"Shall I dispose of her, father?" Inquires the Scarlet Witch, her dark eyes meeting mine with such venom that I'm surprised she hasn't wasted me already.

"No, no," Erik says sweetly, putting a hand across his daughter's shoulders and pulling her close. "That won't be necessary, my dear. Now," He says to me as Wanda slowly releases her kinetic grasp on me. I land on my feet, still poised for a fight, but I don't attack. It would be pointless with the Witch here, monitoring my every move. "If you will allow it, I would like to speak with you, Ms. Hawthorne. Alone." He adds, gesturing to Rogue, who moves to stand beside me, having been freed along with me.

I look to her and we exchange a significant glance before I turn back to Magneto and nod my consent.

"Very well," Erik says, turning away from us as if we're no more of a threat than a pair of flies on the wall. "This way."

* * *

Rogue really hate the idea of leaving me here, but Erik made it clear nothing would be settled unless she left. His way of explaining it was that he didn't want the X-Men on his back again, once they realized we were gone. I knew he couldn't care less. He just wanted to take away another power source from me; to make me all the more vulnerable.

You're quite the narcissist, aren't you, Erik?

I stand in his personal lounge now, never leaving my back to him, and I find it hard to meet his eye without anger flaring up inside me once more. He removes his helmet and runs a hand through his short, white hair, "I was under the impression," He says slowly, glancing at me with the lazy flick of his deep, blue eyes, "That you had some questions for me. Or did you simply come to enjoy my company?"

"I'm tired of asking questions," Is my sullen response. A vein pulses in my neck and I'm finding it a bit difficult to keep from yelling again; my voice is already hoarse from my last attack and I fear I'll lose it completely if I start up again. Today's just been _full_ of yelling and screaming... "Tell me what you want." I add. "You will anyway, no matter what I ask."

Erik chuckles at this and stands up. I grit my teeth as he moves closer and cross my arms tightly, just itching to throw another careless punch. "Am I really such a terrible man?" He asks, his hand coming up and I square my jaw as he gently turns my face to the side to get a better look at the cut on my cheek, still fresh from earlier today. It already seems like such a long time ago. "The MRD grows more arrogant by the day." He murmurs, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes. "And yet _humans are still good people just like us, _aren't they?" He asks mockingly and I quickly pull away from him.

"I didn't come here to be mocked," I say, the comment really getting to me for some reason. I remember feeling so angry, so disgusted by those MRD's and…and for a moment…I wanted to hurt them. I mean, _really _hurt them. And not just because they attacked me, but because they had the _nerve_ to attack me. Me—a Mutant—attacked by a bunch of pathetic humans. I wasn't just furious at them—

I was furious at _Human kind._

Senator Kelly's searching gaze enters my mind, unwanted, and I feel that same shameful anger flash before my own eyes again. "I just want to know what it is _you_ know." I continue. "So please, if you could just…" I sigh for about the billionth time this week, literally feeling the deep creases starting to form under my eyes and I bring a hand up to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose in exasperation.

I find it difficult to continue, but Erik, appearing to express guilt (which I don't buy for a second) says in a soft voice, "I meant you no ill-will, Elizabeth. I merely wanted you to discover the truth for yourself. In your own time."

"So you chose _texting _as a means to uncover the truth?" I ask incredulously, raising my eyebrows. "A curious method to use for someone right out of the 19_90's_, don't you think? And a very vague method I might add..." I half mumble as an afterthought.

"Perhaps," He replies, moving behind the counter of what looks to be his own personal bar and I watch with mild annoyance as he starts pouring himself a drink, "Though you _did _manage to figure it out, did you not?" Erik gestures toward me with his glass by way of asking if I'd like one too but I shake my head, and, reluctantly, move towards a chair nearest the fireplace. I'll have to admit, while Erik's entire demeanor has changed over the years, his taste for extravagance surely hasn't.

"What—is it you wanted me know about Essex, exactly?" I ask a bit hesitantly as he sits down across from me, looking about as comfortable as you can get during a raging snow storm with a slightly homicidal mutant, glaring daggers at you a few feet away.

"It would seem," He says slowly, "The Good Doctor has acquired something that does not rightfully belong to him." Erik says evasively and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him, frustrated with all the talking in circles. I wish people would just get to the point already.

"You mean he has my body." I say bluntly, reclining back in the plush cushions of the lounge chair. I don't even need his confirmation to know it's true and he doesn't offer it. Erik merely studies me a moment before leaning forward, elbows on his knees, saying in a firm voice, "I can help you."

"Help me do what?" I ask sarcastically with a humorless chuckle. "_Get my body back?"_ I give a derisive snort of laughter, then say, "He can keep it for all I care."

Now it's Erik's turn to look bewildered. He sits up so suddenly he almost drops his glass on the floor. He sets it down on the counter before saying, "Have you completely lost your senses?" Is his angered response, but I just shrug my shoulders, uncaring. "Do you have any idea what a man like him could do to you? What power he has over you as we speak?"

"_What else is new?"_ I hiss sharply, leaning forward in my seat with a vicious glare, "As far as I'm concerned it doesn't matter what I do," I find myself once again tenderly stroking my injured cheek as a feeling of despair washes over me, "I'll always be under somebody's thumb."

"Why did you want to help me, anyway?" I ask after a moment of stunned silence—on Erik's part, that is. I know how bad it must sound…to just want to give up. But it is for the better right? Move on with my life? If I go after Essex, I'll be right back to square one. And besides, what right does _he_ (of all people) have to judge me when every move he makes is for his own personal gain? "What do you care about what happens to me?"

Erik stands once more and moves toward the fireplace, silently resting a hand on the mantle as he gazes down into the fire, "I could stand here and crow to you about how I care for all Mutants and just wanted to help you out of the kindness of my heart…but that would be a falsehood even_ I_ couldn't stand by." Erik says, much to my surprise. "In truth, I was hoping to forge an alliance with you in return for helping return your body to you. And…to rid myself of the guilt that has plagued me since your first arrival here on Genosha."

"Guilt?" I repeat, my voice just above a whisper. I shake my head, a smile playing on my lips, "And here I thought you were a better liar than Mystique."

"I assure you," He says, turning to me with a stern glare. "This is neither a lie nor a trick."

"Then what is it?" I retort, getting to my feet, smile gone. "I don't _want_ your help,_ Erik_." I say, moving to stand a mere foot away from the older man, glaring directly into his dark eyes. "I don't want _anyone's_ help. I just want to move on." The smile returns to my face but it doesn't reach my eyes. Instead, I feel a sudden emptiness, somewhere deep inside of me, that has begun to surface. I start to raise my voice, trembling all over as I say, "Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just... go to sleep and never wake up again. Then everything will be_ just_ as it should be—"

Magneto suddenly grabs hold of me by the arms and shakes me, deep creases of anger pinching his brow, "_Enough_!" He hisses at me through bared teeth. "Have you really stooped so low?" I give a grim chuckle, certain it's all an act, and he shakes me again, asking, "Where is your pride? Your _shame_? You are stronger than that, I have always known it. Tell me, what could have possibly reduced you to such a pathetic state?"

"I don't know, Erik." I say honestly, tiredly; my own brow knitting as the weight of my own words hits me. Why did I say that? What am I even doing here? I should be back at the Mansion, getting ready for Christmas with the teens. Not here, arguing with a known extremist and likely enemy.

"I'm just…tired." I say at last and that feels...right, somehow. I'm tired. Tired of suppressing all of my anger, all of my doubt, all of my fear. Tired of trying to fit in with this new world when all I want to do is return to the old one. "I'm just so damn tired."

Feeling Erik's grip slacken, I look up to meet his eye to see the anger receding from his face. A sudden thought strikes me like a bolt of lightning and I stare into the fireplace, my mind wandering. "He wants me to seek him out." I say at last, the answers coming to me in an epiphany of random thought. "That's why he's "protecting" me. Sinister _wants _me to find him. To fight him...But I won't do it." I say softly, looking right through Magneto who still has his hands on me, watching me. "I won't play his game. I won't give him the satisfaction." I add with conviction and I feel a smirk—a real smirk—pull at the corner of my mouth.

My eyes focus back in on Erik to find him smirking right back at me, and, for some reason, I don't flinch or pull away when his hand takes my chin and his lips meet mine; kissing me too suddenly to react. He pulls away after a moment and murmurs, "That's more like it."

"You do realize," I whisper, pulling back slightly as he leans in again. "This means I won't be needing your assistance after all, don't you?"

"I wouldn't say that," Erik replies in a similar undertone, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "But I will…respect your decision nonetheless."

I nod once, neither thanking him nor chastising him for the meaning behind his words, but instead take a step back, lips still tingling from whatever just happened, and say, "I think it's time I left."

"Have you not been watching the news?" Erik asks, taking a seat once again and picking up his glass as if nothing happened. "Any form of travel is currently in advisable. Or hadn't you heard?"

I move to the window and peer through the curtains.

I curse under breath at what I see. The water surrounding Genosha churns savagely as snow swirls at alarming rates, rattling the window with the sheer force of the wind. There are a number of Mutants in the square, running to get out of the fast-approaching blizzard. There's no way Rogue could make it back here and Magneto's transports (which he had assured me, I could use) won't make it either.

"I don't trust you," I say at last, turning away from the window to shoot him a look.

"Noted." He nods, raising his glass.

"And I'm not staying here because I want to." I add.

"Understood."

Not knowing what else to say or do, I rub my arms and glance around before finally pulling off my gloves, "You know what?"

Magneto turns his head, eye brows raised, and I chew my lip for a second before finally saying, "I think I'll take that drink, after all."

* * *

_**VANHOUVEN, RUSSIA**_

He'd heard her again. That woman. In his head.

It wasn't the first time he had felt her presence and he knew with certainty it wouldn't be the last. But there was something different about this time. It wasn't just a feeling. Or the vague image of a face in one of his dreams.

It was a voice.

And it was calling his name.

"Don't tell me you're leaving," _She_ was saying in his native tongue, coming up behind him to wrap her arms around his bare waist. She pressed her face against his shoulder but he hardly acknowledged her. The Mutant girl with the long, dark hair. She was a onetime thing; barely even a level 1 Mutant and worth about as much as it took to get her, which wasn't saying much. "Where are you going, anyway?"

Her voice was whiny and hot in his ear and he shrugged her off. The bed made a loud, groaning noise as he stood, moving toward the open window. It wasn't the safest thing someone with his particular..._countenance_ could do. But for the moment, he didn't care. He could hear her groan in frustration behind him, and throw herself back down on the bed with a huff; like a child throwing a tantrum. He'd known it was a mistake to sleep with her, but at the time it seemed like a good idea. He never _did_ have the best gage for clingers, which this girl obviously was.

"Heeey!" She was shouting at him, drunkenly. "Are you even _listening_ to me?"

No.

He half turned, glancing at her through icy, blue eyes over his shoulder, and she stuck out her lip in a pout. She was beautiful, that was certain. But she made up in beauty what she lacked in intelligence. That, too, was certain. "C'mon," She crooned, gathering up the sheets around her. "Let's play."

Definitely not one of his better ideas.

Azazel turned away from the woman (whose name escaped him at the moment) and instead moved to the small counter, where his knives glinted in the dim light; just sharpened from earlier that day—when he first heard the voice. He rarely left his tools out so carelessly but then...he hadn't quite been acting like himself lately, as evidenced by his latest mistake.

The woman gave a frustrated groan from behind him as he carefully picked up one of the blades; six inches with a serrated edge, a personal favorite of his. "That's it!" The woman screamed, cursing in Russian as well as another language Azazel couldn't quite pin—Gaelic? "_I'm leaving!"_

Again, Azazel glanced at her, knife still in hand, to see her quickly gathering her things, rising on her tip toes to pluck her bra out of the ceiling fan over head. He tried to recall when and how that happened but it was all a blur of legs and sheets at this point. "Do not forget your bag." Azazel mumbled, gesturing to the small clutch half-hiding beneath the bed.

The woman let out another high-pitched, monstrous roar and snatched a pillow off the bed, pitching it as hard as she could at Azazel's head, only to scream with anger as he slashed it in mid-air. "I hate you!" She spat at him, as stuffing showered the floor. Azazel ignored her, wiping the fuzzy residue off the flat of his blade. Then she straightened up, smoothing out her mane of curly hair as she asked, "You know what?"

Azazel rolled his eyes (more of a flick up and to the right, come to think of it) wondering why she wasn't _leaving_ already as he weighed the knife in his hand.

The woman smirked and tossed her head proudly, "You weren't even that good."

Again she screamed, only this time for a different reason. The door slammed behind her and her frantic screams could be heard down the hall as she ran. Azazel smirked to himself, walking toward the door and locking it before prying the knife from the wall, where it had landed just inches away from where the woman's skull had been.

He hadn't mean to kill her of course; only scare her enough to get out of his room.

Otherwise he would have hit his mark.

Azazel returned to the counter, taking a seat as he inspected the tip of the blade for damage. He'd have to sharpen it again later. But he'd have time. Later.

He would find her soon. He could feel it. Because now…Now he had more than a vague feeling. He had face. A voice. And now…

He had a location.

* * *

**Things may or may not slow down after this but we'll have to see. Things just sort of happen as I go along, which makes it all more fun to write, as it feels like I'm caught up in the action, having to think on my feet just the characters in this fic. Until next time! **

**~THESCRIBE! ;D**


	13. Chapter 13 Hung Over

**_DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING BUT MY WORDS AND OC's THANK YOU. Enjoy:D_**

Chapter 13: Hung-Over

By the time I finish with my story we're both laughing so hard I fear Erik'll have a heart attack or something. I pat him on the back, taking his sloshing glass out of hand as he coughs, his face reddening. After a minute, Erik sits back, catching his breath before he says in that classy voice of his, all the while chuckling, "Did you really think running into a _dark alley_ was your best option of escape?"

I give a hearty snort, inhaling the rest of my own glass before saying, "Seemed like a good idea at the time! And it wasn't _dark_, it was…" I grapple for the right word, waving my hands in a circular motion as if that'll make it come to me sooner. "_Dim_. And it's not funny!" I add, reaching for the glass bottle on the coffee table with some difficulty.

Erik attempts to sober up, raising his eye brows, but eventually he lapses into another bought of laughter as he says, "It is when you tell it like that!"

"Well, yeah," I agree, giving the bottle a shake when the red water stops coming. Empty. "Everything's funnier in hindsight." I recline back with my glass and throw my legs over his lap, "It's not like we're…havin' some kinda…heart-to-heart here. Speaking of which," I straighten up a bit, propping myself up against the cushioned armrest, lowering my voice. "Yer not gonna…get me into any trouble with a _certain somebody_, are you?"

My words sound slurred and messy, even to me, but that only makes it funnier for some reason.

"Somebody…somebody…" Erik mutters, reclining his head back over the headrest of the couch. "Ah," He says at last, turning his head to the side to look at me. "You mean _Raven_."

I take another drink as he ponders this a moment, eyeing him over the brim of the glass and wondering why there are two of him. I shake my head, which only makes the dizziness worse and I close my eyes to steady myself just as he says, "She and I have…" He stops, blinking, and tries again. "She and I are…" He blows out a puff of air and throws his hands out in an exasperated, sweeping motion. "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"Wait, wait!" I say, attempting to sit up straight but I soon realize I need both hands. I set down my drink with a loud clank and use my hands to sit myself up. "You're not…_fighting_ again, are you?"

"We don't fight," Magneto mutters in annoyance. "We…ignore each other completely. We—we sleep around, you know," He adds and I nod, knowing all too well. "And then we argue and then we…" His voice trails off.

"Fuck?" I finish for him, and he turns his eyes to me, blinking slowly, then he nods and brings his glass to his lips, saying, "In essence…yes."

"Pfft! What's the problem with that?" I ask, tossing my hair away from my neck. Even in these borrowed robes that look like something off of a Star Trek set, and a blizzard raging outside, it's hot in here. "It's better than…" I attempt to stifle another fit of giggles as I say, "Running down a dark alley."

He chuckles lightly, letting his now empty glass tilt in his hand, but his gaze is all too serious, "Yes, it is…a bit like that, actually."

I notice his head drop slightly and I give him a curious look, chuckling a bit, but it soon fades out at the oddly serious look on his face. "Hey, lighten up, will you?" I say, reaching over and nudging him in the shoulder. "You're killing my buzz."

Erik sits up and leans forward, moving the glass between his hands for a while and I frown, "Is there…something you wanna tell me?"

He doesn't answer right away and I withdraw my legs, and lean forward; intrigued. "There is, isn't there?" I lean even closer, tilting my head down to catch his eye, "Tell me, Erik. Please…"

He looks at me and I can see the conflict in his eyes as they meet mine, then he lifts a hand and taps a finger on top of my nose, "You, my dear," He murmurs at last. "Need another drink."

Then he stands up, leaving me still leaning forward, and feeling a bit confused. Is_ that_ what he wanted to tell me? Weird. "And quite frankly…" He adds. "So do I."

"Hmmm…" Is my only response. I feel tired all of a sudden. It would make sense since it's late. I hope the others aren't too worried. I haven't heard anything from the Professor or Rogue yet but I have the feeling that tomorrow won't be so much fun.

Suddenly, there's a glass in my face and I accept it, "Thanks." But I don't drink from it. I'm thinking, wondering.

I set the glass down, eyes lowering as Erik sinks into the couch beside me and I rest my head back and close my eyes.

* * *

I wake up with a start.

Not even realizing I had fallen asleep at all, and I groan softly. I've got a headache like no other and the crick in my neck isn't exactly helping. I painstakingly lift my head off of what I'd thought to be a pillow but soon realize is actually a sleeping Magneto.

How we got on the floor is beyond me.

Even more flooring is the fact that we both fell asleep together in the first place. Everyone's clothes are on (which is a plus) but it still doesn't quite make sense. Not yet.

I sit up, pressing a hand to my head; it's so bright… "What happened?" I mumble aloud, but Erik's _out._ I get up and cross over to the window, my lets stiff and tingling from sleeping on the floor all night. The second I pull back the curtains, I regret it. The sun blinds me so badly that my eyes water up and have to wait a few seconds, blinking profusely, before I can peer out again.

The blizzard has left most of Genosha covered in ice and snow; the fountain out front is completely glazed over. But the sun shines, making everything seem new and clear. I have the urge to go outside, take a walk, but instead I turn away and quickly shrug on my X-Men suit (keeping a close eye on Magneto) before kneeling down beside Erik and gently shaking him awake.

"Walk me out?"I ask as he too presses a hand to his head, looking as bewildered as I feel.

Sticking true to his word, Erik summons a transport—which turns out to be a giant metal ball that flies places—and I hesitate on stepping inside.

"I assure you, it's perfectly safe." Says Erik behind me, looking far better than I do at the moment, but that's not the reason for my hesitance.

"There's something you're not telling me," I say, turning around to face him. "Isn't there?"

Magneto pauses, once again considering me, then shakes his head slowly, deliberately, and says, "Nothing that can't wait for another night. Say over a glass of Champaign?"

"_Uck_, don't even talk to me about alcohol." I moan, my stomach growing queasy at the thought. I take a breath of chilly, winter air before saying, "The others will be expecting me. I should go before I can cause you any more trouble."

"Perhaps next time you will stay awhile." He remarks. "Genosha is lovely this time of year." I chuckle in response, stepping into the transport before I can make any promises I don't intend to keep. But before it takes off, I have one last thing to say, "And…no," I say softly, offering a small, smile from within the metal ball, my voice echoing slightly. "You're not such a terrible man."

The last thing I see before the transport seals me in, is a knowing smile on Erik's face.

* * *

The second the transport touches down just outside the gates of the Xavier Institute, I stumble out and hurl whatever I'd eaten yesterday along with the equivalent of about two bottles of wine into the bushes. Disgusting. It would seem a hangover mingled with motion sickness isn't the best way to wake up. Who knew?

I stagger to my feet as the transport seals itself back up, and watch it leave for a moment. Then I turn to the gate…Locked.

Not a problem.

I swagger through the front gate, tripping the alarms and I pause, irritated, when a small, disc-like device emerges from the ground right in front of me, its round barrel aimed for my head. But before it can fire at me (and miss, of course) it recedes back into the ground. Huh. Someone must've disabled the alarms.

I start for the front door but it opens long before I reach it and I give a loud, frustrated groan, my head lolling to the side when I see who steps through it. "Not you…"

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?!" Logan's yelling at me and I cover my ears, yanking my arm away when he reaches for me, trying to move past him. I really need to take a shower and wash the taste of bile out of my mouth before it makes me sick again. Why can't he just cut me a break?

"I—I'm not…gonna do this with you right now, Logan!" I mumble, as I step through the door. "I'm tired, I—I got a cold….from the storm—" I attempt to lie but he follows me in, slamming the door shut and in two quick strides, he has my arm and leans in close, "Don't give me that." He leans in a bit more and says in a hushed voice, "It doesn't take super human senses to smell alcohol, which you've had plenty of."

"Ooohhhh, now I've gotta_ drinking_ _problem_!" I laugh, not really caring who hears before muttering, "Gimme a break."

I phase out of his grip and hurry up the stairs, pausing a good ten seconds when a sudden dizziness overcomes me, before continuing to my room.

I shower once for maybe an hour and brush my teeth about twelve times before depositing myself on my bed, soaked hair and all. My family has always been known for being exceptional tolerant, meaning I've got my mom's thick skin and my Dad's ability to hold most any liquor. With this one time being the exception, of course…that and prom….I guess flying over miles of open ocean didn't really help, though. I wonder if they're still alive...

I hear murmuring behind my door and lightly lift the pillow I'd thrown over my head to listen. It sounds like Xavier, Storm, and… "Uuuhhhh…" I moan, chucking my pillow at the door. "Go awaaayyyy!"

I glare at the door when the murmurings cease. A moment later, the door cracks open and in walks Logan.

I bury my head into the covers and pull the blanket over my head; anything to escape him. He doesn't say anything at first, which I find odd, and l say from beneath the spread, "I don't want a lecture right now, Logan. Please just…go away."

"I ain't here for a lecture, kid." Is Logan's surprisingly calm reply. His raspy voice sounds tired and I peek through the covers at him curiously. He's holding a glass of water in one hand and…what is that? A Lemon?

Well, I am kind of thirsty. Must be all the dehydration…

I sit up and eye him a moment, before reluctantly taking the glass and downing more than half of it. I sigh, catching my breath, and then silently pat the bed, gesturing for him to sit down. I take another sip of water, the bed sloping as he sits down, and eye the lemon suspiciously before asking finally, "What's that?"

"Some kinda...citrus." Logan smirks and I roll my eyes. Cute.

"I mean, _what's it for?" _I ask over the rim of my glass.

"It'll take the taste out." He offers it to me and I frown, taking the round fruit (?) in my hands and weighing it as he says, "Trust me, it works."

"Speaking from experience?" I mumble, raising my eyebrows. I look a hot mess, I just know it. I run a hand through my tangled locks as he inhales deeply, saying, "Let's just say I've been there." He gestures toward the lemon but I merely stare at it as he says, "At least you didn't wake up in an alley er sumthin'."

I give an involuntary snort of laughter, remembering that "dark alley" joke from last night. It isn't really that funny but at the time… "Yeah…heh. Guess I got lucky on that one." I glance up and can tell I probably should have left that part out. It looks like he wants to say something about my whereabouts last night, but before he can get on his soap box I hold up the lemon and say, "So what am I supposed to do with this? Lick it?" It hasn't been cut yet.

He takes the lemon, "Oh, right…" And with a _shink! _extends one of his claws and slices it in half. It's the first time I've seen his claws and they're every bit as long and intimidating as I've heard. Knives in his hands...A scary thought.

"Careful." I warn sharply as he cuts it again into a smaller wedge. Too late. The blade of his razor-sharp claws slices more than the lemon. I take his hand in both of mine and press the hem of the towel I'd thrown carelessly on the night stand into his palm, cursing softly.

"It's nothing, really." Logan grunts, taking my hand and moving it (along with the towel) away from his. The cut is already closing up and, in a second, replaced with smooth skin. "I forgot about the…healing factor." I mumble, meeting his eye but he's not looking at me—well, he is, but not at my eyes; he's looking at my cheek.

"What?" I ask, bringing my hand to my face. There's nothing there. "What? There's nothing—"

I suddenly realize what I'm saying and jump out of bed, toward the mirror on the other side of the room. As I expected, I'm a hot mess. But something's missing.

_My cut._

I touch my still rosy cheek with a finger but instead of a bandage, I'm met with a layer of soft, unmarked skin. I turn back to Wolverine, who is also standing, my eyes wide and questioning. He strides toward me and takes my arm, pulling back the sleeve of my shawl, but when he examines my wrist, we're both met with the same thing; spotless. And I'm sure it's the same with the rest of me, as I endured several, minor scrapes and bruises around my abdomen during the fight.

Everything's healed.

We lock eyes and say the first thing that comes to mind, "The Professor."

I start heading for the door but Logan stops me. "What?" I snap, thinking he's going to give me that lecture after all, but he just hands me the lemon wedge. I accept it, feeling slightly guilty, "Right."

"Let's go." Is all he says and we both reach the Professor's office to find Angel, Storm and Xavier already waiting for us. "You've looked better," Angel jokes, taking in my messy hair and the lemon jammed in my mouth, but I can see the look of worry in his eye just the same as everyone else.

"Actually, I've been looking a lot better lately," I reply as Logan shuts the door behind us. "in case you haven't noticed." I tap a finger on my cheek and a look of understanding dawns on everyone's face.

We toss around a couple odd theories but only one becomes certain, "It is quite possible," Says the Professor, leaning his elbows on his desk with his fingers delicately entwined before him. "That you have triggered your secondary mutation: regeneration."

"I thought I already _had_ a secondary mutation," I object, thinking about my wide range of abilities. "More than one, come to think of it."

"Most Mutants do," The Professor agrees sagely. "However, Astral Projection itself is a curious phenomenon that allows for a number of different abilities to manifest at once; similar to the way Storm can control not only wind, but rain, lightning, and snow. They are…facets, if you will, of your initial Mutation. However, a _secondary_ Mutation (such as Wolverine's claws) can manifest much_ later_ in a Mutants' life; sometimes due to stress or a traumatic experience."

Or a traumatically stressful experience.

"So…I can heal myself in my sleep." I surmise, letting the words set in before saying, "If only I could do that seventeen years ago, huh?" I start laughing, slowly at first, and soon my eyes are streaming. "That's wonderful! _Fantastic!"_ I'm the only one laughing.

My laughter comes to a staggering halt when a stabbing pain assaults my brain. Still not feeling too great. I clear my throat, "So, what's next then?" I ask, taking a seat in the nearest chair and clasping my hands in front of me. "This is—a good thing, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," The Professor says immediately. "It is my belief that you have possessed this ability since your awakening and it may grow stronger as _you_ do."

"Now if we could only find the rest of you." Warren chimes in with a good-natured smile but I don't share in the murmurs of agreement and planning and theorizing. I already have a theory. More like a confirmed suspicion, really. But I hold my silence, nodding and making a few remarks here or there, sucking on my lemon, until our little discussion is over. None of them are even close to the truth.

"You, ah…forgot your package." Angel says as we leave the study, presenting me with a small box with a silver bow at the top. "I know the box looks different but the last one was sort of…you know." I remember.

I take the box and give an appreciative smile. I'd forgotten all about it. "Thank you, Warren."

"Oh, but don't open it yet." Warren says quickly, placing his hands over mine when I try to open the box. "It's a surprise."

I smirk but something catches my eye over his shoulder. It's Storm. I try to meet her eye but she's too busy staring wistfully at Warren. I blink, whatever I was going to say floating right out of my head, and she notices me, her blue eyes finding my brown ones for a brief second before she quickly looks away and starts off in the other direction. Huh.

"I'll—put it under the tree." I say to catch Warren's attention, who stares after her looking mildly confused. I start towards the Christmas tree in the living room but Warren quickly follows after me, "Actually," He starts nervously, hovering over my shoulder as I set the box down beneath the tree. "I was hoping you could help me with something."

"Help you with what?" I ask, straightening up.

"Well there's…there's one more gift I still need to buy," He says, hands in his pockets, cheeks blushing a deep crimson. "And I thought it could use a _woman's touch_." He adds with a boyish grin.

I consider it a moment.

I don't feel particularly well but—like I said—a Hawthorne knows how to hold her liquor. Or at least suck it up long enough to do a little Christmas shopping. Which is in—what?—three days? "Give this woman thirty minutes to primp and I'll…see what I can do."

* * *

**More to come. Prepare for some major build up. I've got plans this holiday season! Which has technically passed...hm.**

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	14. Chapter 14 Deception

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING BUT MY WORDS! Thank you and Enjoy ;D**

Chapter 14: Deception

"So," I say at the counter, moving to hover over Angel's shoulder just as he did mine earlier at the mansion. "How long have you been in love with her?"

"I'm not—in love with her," Warren retorts a bit too defensively. He seems to realize this and asks in an undertone, "How could you tell?"

"Womanly intuition?" I peer over the counter at the jewels inside and point to a pair of pearls, much like the ones Storm is known for wearing. "Those are nice. Classy, like her." I add, elbowing him playfully but he chews on his lip and says, "I don't know. I want it to be more personal. Something to make her think of…" He blushes a deep shade of red; maroon, more like. "Think of me."

I feel my heart go out to him, a deep ache in my chest and abdomen and I nod. "I'll keep looking." I say softly. "Just…try to think of something you both have in common. Something you both love and share."

He gives me a look of complete and utter helplessness and I realize I'm talking to a guy. "Never mind," I say. "Just…keep looking."

I walk around, searching high and low for something that will inspire and captivate. Something to grab Ororo's attention. I find this a bit difficult, what with the clerk glaring at me from the other side of the store...

Suddenly, I hear a triumphant shout from the other side of the store. I turn around just in time to see Angel flying at me (But not really), a broad grin on his face and his eyes shining. He throws his arms around me saying, "You're a genius!"

"What? What did I do?" I wheeze, my arms squashed against his chest and he pulls away, positively beaming as he says, "I did what you said and looked for something we had in common. And I found these…"

He presents me with a set of earrings in the shape of gorgeous wings and a necklace featuring a small, graceful figure that appears to be flying. "Of course," I murmur. "Flying. You both love flying." It's the one thing Angel wouldn't shut up about on the way over. How he and Storm were always going flying together. How she would make the sun shine on rainy days just so he wouldn't get his wings wet. The gift completely encompassed their relationship.

"It's perfect." I breathe. "It really is."

We start for the exit and nearly get plowed over by a horde of kids and their agitated parents. I breathe a sigh of relief. "Guess who's never having kids?" I joke, staring after the group and I swear I see the father mouth the words: Help me. Actually, I really like kids. And they usually like me. With the exception of my younger sister who was seven when I left to join Erik's crew and was already growing to hate Mutants with a passion—taking after her parents and school mates. She somehow seemed to know what I was and made sure I knew it, too.

I shake my head and am about to follow Angel toward the escalator (as the shop was on the second floor of the shopping mall) when a face jumps out at me from the crowd. It looks just like—

"Azazel?" I whisper aloud and start towards the man; standing there, half-hidden by a kiosk on the other side of catwalk, where a staircase separates us; watching me. His hair is black and glossy, and eyes blue as ice. A small, dangerous smirk pulls at the corner of him mouth and a scar runs down the length of his left eye, cutting straight through his eyebrow. Ignoring Angel as he calls after me, I slip through the crowd of people littering the area, trying to get to him. But another throng of people rush by me, blocking my vision, and, by the time I manage to push past them, he's gone.

"Elizabeth!" Angel's voice snaps me out of my haze as he runs up behind me and I blink at him with wide eyes, struggling to find my breath which had ceased upon seeing that-that face. "What's the matter with you?"

"I—" I struggle to explain myself but how am I supposed to say I just saw someone who_ looked_ like Azazel? He wasn't even red! Oh, and then there's the fact that he's _not there anymore._ "Nothing," I say after I've calmed myself down. "I-It was nothing."

It must have been my imagination, I tell myself as Angel leads me away, looking slightly unnerved.

Azazel is in Russia and Emma at her own Institute. The only way Azazel can get away with that sort of disguise is if she were there masking his true appearance. And there's just no way she'd do that without coming to see me. In fact, if it were really him, he wouldn't have just stood there, then disappeared. He would have sought me out…wouldn't he?

"I'm hungry," I say vaguely, wanting desperately not to seem like a total nutcase and Warren offers me a smile; probably relieved that I haven't completely lost it. He replies with, "I know a nice little burger joint I think you'd like."

"Really?" I ask, still not entirely paying attention. I blame it on the alcohol. "What's it called?"

"McDonalds."

I glance up at him and he grins at me. I punch him on the arm, loop mine through his, and allow myself to enjoy our slow-paced walk through the mall.

* * *

Dark falls quickly during the winter. It's only about 5 o' clock and the sun is already setting in the distance. We're walking down the street, headed for the Bayville town square for something to eat, when someone calls out, "Hey, Worthington!"

We both turn around to see a man in a suit and tie flagging us down a ways back at a pub called, McDermit's Bar and Grill. His ginger hair is coiffed so perfectly, it immediately makes me self-conscious (my hand going to my own hair) and his demeanor is laid back and slightly unbalanced, which tells me happy hour's just begun for this guy.

"Clark?" Warren asks, and in a second he's striding back towards the bar, and embracing the man. I follow, stomach growling.

"Warren, where have you _been_?" The man—Clark—exclaims heartily. "I haven't seen you in years!"

The two get acquainted for a few minutes before Warren remembers I'm here and introduces me. "Well, why don't you guys come in for a drink and meet a few friends of mine?"

I begin to object, but Warren is already following Clark inside.

I tag along (too afraid to try and make it back to the mansion on my own, what with all the MRD's crowding the city) and immediately feel lost. The setting is different from anything I've ever experienced. I've been to wild and crazy house parties, intimate get-togethers, and a number of dances/balls/and a Gala or two, but never a…bar. They always remind me of my parents.

Hm, that's the third time I've thought about them. I'm getting sentimental.

Out of place, and more than a little bored at the senseless chatter, I wander over towards the bar area and take a seat at one of the stools. Just to clear my head. Clear my head of thoughts of my parents. My family.

Why did they surface now?

Better yet, why haven't they surfaced before now?

Was it because my parents were partying alcoholics? Or was it the fact that they were blatant, anti-mutant fascists who, in spite of secretly knowing I was a mutant, never addressed it and continued to show their disdain towards not only other mutants, but me as well.

I guess that's why it was so easy to leave—

"Come here often?" A woman with long, blonde hair and clear, grey eyes, sharp as steel, asks me with the languid toss of her head.

"Ahh, no," I respond with some difficulty, taken aback by the woman's stunning beauty. She's tall with long, curvy legs, a slender waist, and a large bust. And to top it all off her strong, distinctly British accent gives her a foreign quality that most men and women find incredibly disarming. "First time, actually."

"Hm," She laughs, taking a seat at the bar next to me, her sleek, black dress moving as if it's part of her body. "I'll take a scotch." She says to the bartender, then to me, "What'll it be?"

"Nothing, thank you." I say quickly. "I'm—still working off _last night's_ activities."

"Doesn't stop most people," She says, taking hold of her drink, but she pauses to say, "Then again, you aren't most people," She gives me a significant look. "_are you?"_

I glance around, wondering if this is some sort of MRD sting, but she laughs off my fears and says, "Relax. You're among friends. More than half of these people are like you and me. Sort of a…don't ask, don't tell policy." She explains and I nod, already wanting to know more about her abilities but I don't ask.

"Now," She continues when I don't say anything. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this all alone?"

"Oh, I'm not alone," I reply, glancing around the bar for Angel. "I'm with…" But when I fail to locate him she says, "It's alright to say you came here alone. Many of the people you see are just here for a hook up. Nothing more, nothing less."

"That's not why I'm here…Really!" I exclaim when she gives me a funny look. "I'm with a friend."

"Then what's with that look?"

"_What look?"_

"You know," She nudges me. "The wounded-deer-on-the-side-of-the-road look."

"Ouch!" I cry, joining her in her laughter. "_Wounded Deer?" _I repeat, a little offended by the comparison. Then I shake my head and ask, "Is it really that obvious?"

"Oh," She too shakes her head, her eyes wide. "It's all over your face. Do you have anything stronger?" She asks the bartender who gives her a drink that makes her hiss with the fire of it. I don't even want to know what it is.

I make an incredulous snorting sound in my throat at the comment, "Huh, _Wounded Deer_…I'm actually going through kind of a hard time here." I say, though I can't help myself from smiling. She's so charismatic!

"Oh, is that so?" She asks sarcastically.

"Yes!" I confirm, slouching in my seat with a sigh, "I'm just…trying to work things out."

She lets out a steady stream of air, her hand swaying. I can tell she's becoming intoxicated. "Another." She says to the bartender who obligingly refills her glass in spite of my dissuasive look. "Work, work," She groans. "Always working! Isn't it bad enough we have to _look _good but do we really have to_ feel_ good _all the time_, too?" She asks me. "I mean, there are just sometimes where I just wanna…" She brings her hands up in a choking motion with a frustrated groan, "You know?"

"Oh, I know." I say with certainty. I've been there myself. I'm _still _there. "But what can you do? If you just…" I make the same hand gestures. "Then you hurt the people around you. It's always gonna be you or them." I slump my shoulders and rest my elbows on the counter. "You can't win."

Either that or everybody loses.

"You know what you need?" She was saying, her speech slurred and her eyes unfocused. "Is to mooove on." She stares off into her glass. "Let goooo." She gestures for a refill.

"I thought I _was _moving on." I pout, raising my hands indignantly. "I_ am_ letting go!"

"No, no, no…" She said in that British drawl. "I mean let go of _Him_." She raised her eye brows at me, tipping her glass in my direction.

"How did you know about—" I freeze, realizing I was about to say his name and I think back to earlier at the mall with a start. I settle for, "How did you know?"

"Mm." She quickly withdrew her glass to say in half a whisper, "Call it a…_woman's intuition." _She winks at me. I stare at her. Is it possible she was at the jewelry store earlier? Or is this just part of her mutation? Maybe she's a mind reader.

I sigh and shake my head, putting up a mental block just in case, "Believe me. I'm trying but I just—I just can't." I decide I can trust this nameless woman with vague details and voice what I've been thinking all along, "Not while he's out there. Not while there's still a chance—"

"Honey, is he_ here?"_ She asks suddenly, grasping my arm; her grip is surprisingly strong and firm. I frown and shake my head in response, to which she replies, "Then there** is** no chance! Ha!" She laughs as if it's a triumph.

"But—" I start to object but she cuts me off again. "Ah, ah, ah!" She wags her finger at me. "That's your heart talking. _Don't _listen to your heart. It'll getcha killed." She adds and I glance at her sharply. "Figuratively speaking, of course." She adds.

"Then…what do I do? Just…give up?"

"_No!_ _Never_ give up! Listen to your—" She grapples for the word. "Well your…" Her eyes purposely travel downward toward my lap and I involuntarily cross my legs with a appalled, "_Oh my god!"_

"What?! I'm being serious!" She cries, throwing up her hands as I look around to see if anybody saw, but the bartender seems intent on tuning us out. He's probably heard everything. "I've always heard that the best way to _get over _a man is to get _under _a new one." I feel my cheeks heating up but say nothing. "What about your friend?"

"My friend?" I repeat, glancing around and actually manage to spot him this time; talking and laughing with a large group of suits. The woman follows my gaze and lets out a low purr, "Oooh, he_ is_ a cutie."

"Yeah," I agree, but I never really thought of Angel like that. He's more of a good friend than anything else. "But he already likes someone else."

"Well there must be _someone_ out there!" The woman says in exasperation. I think about it a while. A face _does_ come to mind but…

"It just doesn't seem right." I say at last. That much is certain.

"Let me guess, you think you're betraying him by moving on. Is that right?"

I don't respond but stare down at the glossy table, crossing my arms. "Come now, love." The woman puts an arm across my shoulders. "Don't look so glum. I'll tell you what," She stands up and turning around to rest her elbows on the table, leaning back to look at me. "You go to that man and you kiss him. Right on the mouth. And forget about it!" She offers me a sly grin.

"Forget about it?" I repeat . "But you can't just forget something like—" My words stick in my throat when I realize I'm being in huge hypocrite. I already did forget about it. With Erik. It's almost like it never even happened. Maybe it didn't and I was just hallucinating. "Huh," I say after a moment of stunned silence. "I guess you can just forget it."

I rest my chin in my hand in thought as the woman moves a strand of my hair out of my face, a bit close for my comfort but for some reason I'm okay with it. "Maybe I will."

* * *

"Soooo, what did you say her name was?" Angel asks breathlessly as we load the blonde-haired woman into the cab. Her body slides to the side to rest on my shoulder, squashing me against the door frame.

"I, uh," I give an equally breathless laugh. "Didn't quite catch it."

In fact, I hadn't even thought to ask.

"What do we do with her?" I ask, but before we can come up with an idea, she stirs with a small moan, "Where am I?" She asks drowsily, in that accent of hers.

"You're in a cab, going down 7th." I tell her, sitting her up in a better position and she blinks a few times as I ask, "Where, ah, where should we drop you off?"

"I live…on 52nd street and Toranto," She manages to get out before glancing up at Angel and promptly latching onto his arm with a dreamy smile, murmuring, "If _you_ don't want 'im, _I'll_ take 'im."

We follow her directions, with the help of the taxi driver, and soon we're helping her out of the cab just outside of a fancy hotel. "Shall we take you to your room Miss?" Warren offers but she shrugs us off, swaying a bit as she says, "I'll be fiiine! The manager's an old friend. He'll take care of me."

Warren and I exchange uncertain glances and I'm about to take her arm again but she's already walking away. "Remember what I told you, my little wounded deer!" She calls just before disappearing inside, "Forget about it!"

"What did she mean by that?" Warren asks, looking thoroughly confused but I just shrug and head back for the cab, saying, "C'mon, it's late and we still need to wrap a certain _something_ for a certain _someone_…"

Again he blushes and we sit in comfortable silence the rest of the way home. But I can help but wonder…

Who was that mysterious woman?

* * *

She received a number of looks as she made her way back to the hotel room, but she met them all with menacing glares, coy smiles, or dismissive glances when appropriate. She got to her room and kicked off those wretched heels, tore off her silly dress and reverted back to her natural form, crossing to the mirror to bask in her own reflection.

Once again, Mystique had acted flawlessly.

For a moment, she almost believed she_ was_ Melissa Marie Cory. Just as that ignorant little fool did. It had been so easy. She'd had more difficulty fitting into the role of that clerk at the jewelry store. Mystique didn't much care for serving others. Much less humans. It was almost laughable how easy it was to earn that little whore's trust. Then again, the Ghostgirl had never been very bright. Especially not when it came to her allies. Or her enemies.

If only it had been that easy with—

Mystique grinned.

Who was she kidding? It _would_ be that easy.

Once Elizabeth Hawthorne forgot about Azazel…

Mystique would step right in.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

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	15. Chapter 15 Things Left Unsaid

**A bit of an emotional chapter, came to me out of no where, but...I like it. So read and Enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think!**

**P.S. I don't own anything but my words.**

Chapter 15: Things Left Unsaid

Christmas Eve tomorrow.

The Mansion is alight with Christmas decorations and lights and music. Since most students are leaving to visit their families for the holidays, we're having our Christmas party tomorrow, so we can all celebrate together at least once before everyone leaves. Ororo, Jean, Scott, Dimitri, Kitty, and surprisingly Bobby and I have been hard at work cooking for the big dinner and everyone else has been finishing up with the shopping and decorating, making sure no one gets left out on the Secret Santa and White Elephant events.

Nightcrawler has popped into the kitchen several times already, wielding some mistletoe in an attempt to get a kiss out of Jean and Kitty, only to be shooed out by Bobby, Scott, or Storm. I think it's funny and one time he came in and gave me a shy little kiss on the cheek before quickly bamfing away.

I finish up with the stuffing and, seeing as I don't need any more help here, decide to go help set up the living room. We've set up so many foam bean bags, cushions, blankets, futons and any kind of comfy chair you can imagine (courtesy of the Worthingtons) for the events and I wander around, adjusting them in a sort of circle around the mound of presents set up just for the White Elephant event. The rest of the presents lay beneath the tree in the far corner of the room.

I adjust one particularly large bean bag, large enough to hold three kids (or Beast) comfortably and I glance around, making sure no one's around, before spreading my arms out to the side and letting myself tip backward where the bean bag swallows me up; leaving only my legs and arms visible.

"Mind if I join you?"

I surface and look up to find Tabitha standing just behind me. "Sure." Is my response, and I move over—with some difficulty—for her to slowly sink in beside me, her wings folded delicately behind her like a silky cloak.

She rests beside me and, for a while, we just lie there.

"I'm—I'm glad I could be here," Tabitha says after a while of silence. I'd wanted to say something first but I just…couldn't. "For Christmas, I mean." She adds with a sigh. "I almost didn't come."

"Why not?" I ask softly.

"Well, one reason was that…Dimitri wanted to tell the others about us moving to Genosha," She says and I nod at that. I wouldn't blame her for her hesitance at that. "But more than that…" She looks at me, her green eyes wide and searching, "I was afraid."

I don't have to ask to know that she was afraid of seeing me.

"I didn't know if you were—if you were_ real_ or not." She admits then she gives a breathy chuckle, saying, If you weren't, I'd have been _heartbroken_. But…I think I was more afraid that you were."

"Why?" I prompt.

Her lips tighten into a thin line, thinking, before she says, "I was afraid you wouldn't…remember. I was…" She laughs, a strangled sound. "I was afraid you wouldn't _like_ me!"

Even I have to laugh at that and in response, I take her hand in one of mine and rest my head on her shoulder. I don't know what else to say.

"Was it…scary?" She asks softly, and when I find I can't reply, she says, "You always seemed so _brave_. When I was little, I couldn't—understand, but now…" She shuts her eyes as tears stream down her cheeks. "I was so _terrified_. I still am. All I can remember is running. Just running and_ screaming_. And that _ship_." She hesitates, trying to bring her voice down as it had begun to border on hysterical. "I had a panic attack, you know." She says, nodding to herself.

"When we first went to Genosha," She continues. "It took me almost ten minutes just to get on the ship. We almost missed it! I would have_ flown_ there if I could make such a long trip, but…with Dimitri, that wouldn't have been possible. And when I _did_ get on I…I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think…I just sat in a corner, hyperventilating and _remembering _it all."

"Tabitha…" I murmur, having sat up on my elbows to look at her as she retold her horrors. I reach for her now as I say, "I had no idea—"

"Why didn't you come with us?" She suddenly cries, sitting up rapidly to look at me through accusatory eyes. "We could have escaped _together_! We could have made it, I _know_ we could've!"

"We _did_ escape, Tabitha." I tell her gently, confused at her sudden anger. "We all did—"

"No," She shakes her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. "No, I remember—" She stands up and moves to stand over me, her eyes pinched with hate. I sink deeper into the chair in her absence and struggle back into a sitting position. "Back in the woods—" She's saying, her wings unfolding in her angst. "_He_ was standing in the middle of the road. Just—just standing there, and you-you got out of the truck!"

In a sudden burst of thought, I remember. I can see it all, but not through my eyes. I can see them through the lime green eyes of a seven year old girl, watching the only Mutant to ever show her motherly compassion jump out of their only chance of survival—tired and bleeding—to meet a bloodthirsty, homicidal monster.

To me it was our only chance of survival. To her, it was the end of the line.

I never saw her again after that.

"You got out of the truck and you _left _us!" Now she's full on sobbing.

I shake my head over and over as I rise to my feet. I can't understand what I did wrong. I try to tell her, "I had no choice, Tabitha. He would have found us if I'd gone. Don't you understand? He vowed to kill you and Dimitri and Doug if I hadn't stopped him—"

"_But you didn't!"_ She screams at me and with a shuddering gasp, sinks to her knees. "You didn't…"

"They never told you…" I whisper, my eyes wide with horror as the sudden realization washes over me like a crushing wave. But she doesn't respond. Only weeps. She didn't know what really happened. Only that I got out of that truck, went to fight off Victor Creed, and never came back.

She thinks _he_ killed me.

I hear the thundering of footsteps as a large group of students and teachers suddenly flood the room, several people tripping over the cushions all over the floor. But they all stop short when they see our little drama playing out.

I look up and my own overflowing eyes find Logan's, "You never told them?"

"What? Tell who what?" Bobby is asking, feeling left out.

Dimitri enters the room, baking powder on his cheeks, looking as lost as everyone else. My eyes find his and in his eyes I see…a shadow. A shadow of darkness, guilt, and something else—regret?

My eyes find Storms' next, then Hanks'; searching for answers but none of them seem to know what I mean.

I hear a mechanical whirr and turn to see the Professor enter on the other side of the room. " 'I am so sorry…' " He attempts to reach out to me mentally but I abruptly block him off and say, "Tell them."

"Tell who what?!" Bobby exclaims but is quickly silenced by Kitty who throws a hand over his mouth.

"You must understand," The Professor says aloud. "There was no easy way to explain—"

"I'm with Iceboy on this one, Charles," Logan interjects. "What's goin' on here?"

"You never told them how I died," I state bluntly, my eyes locked with Xavier's. "Did you?"

The Professor glances toward Wolverine, whose expression mirrors that of everyone else's; stunned.

"Charles?" Logan asks through a few shallow breaths of air.

The Professor meets the eye of each of the remaining, original X-Men: Storm…Hank…Logan…

"No."

Storm clasps a hand to her mouth and the look on Hanks' face…I've never seen him look at such a loss for words. And Logan…They had no idea of the secret Xavier was keeping.

My voice is low as I say slowly, "Tell them the truth."

The Professor nods and moves further into the room, deep lines under his tired eyes. "It was a painful truth…that I had hoped to shield you from." He looks to Tabitha and Dimitri, who had gone to his adopted sister's side, joining her on the floor. "The both of you. You were…so young." He pauses a moment or two before going on to say, "Elizabeth was murdered here, in the Xavier Institute."

A number of people gasp, exchange glances, but no one interrupts.

"We—thought we were safe; that the worst was over, but…we were wrong." He looks to me and I nod and continue for him, "We were ambushed by a Mutant named Josef—otherwise known as the Monster—who possessed the ability to absorb the abilities of other Mutants. Much like you, Rogue."

She looks down, chewing on her lip in silence. I find it difficult to continue, wondering if I've gone too far and suddenly I understand the Professor's reason for not telling them. How can you tell two little kids…two teenagers…two _adults_ something so dark from such a bad place?

"How?" Tabitha asks in lieu of the silence but I've said all about I physically _can_ on the subject. Luckily, someone steps in and takes the reins for me.

"She was stabbed in the back," A voice says out of nowhere; a voice I recognize so quickly it gives me mental whiplash. "Severed spinal cord, ruptured diaphragm, internal bleeding, terminal injuries."

She phases through the wall, her blue eyes meeting mine as she strides towards me with sure footing, "And then she just—" She snaps her fingers. "Up and disappeared; like nothing ever happened!" She stops in front of me, anger in her sharp, crystal-like eyes, "And _now_ she decides to just…_waltz_ back into town. And_ how _do I find out? By a blast-from-the-past _phone call_ from one Erik Lensherr…You can—" She inhales deeply. "imagine my surprise."

Emma's cool, neutral expression contorts ever so slightly as she reaches out for me, her hand grasping my hair and her lip trembles as she says weakly, "And now you're here." She sniffs and gives a choked laugh.

"Now I'm here." I echo before turning to Dimitri and Tabitha, kneeling down before them and taking one of their hands in mine, and say firmly, "I'm here. _That's _what matters. And I think that's what the Professor wanted when he withheld that…bit of information." I add, looking up at the Professor and give him a reassuring smile, "He wanted you to remember life. Not death."

"Well isn't that quaint?" Emma says after a while of silence, her toe tapping impatiently. "It looks like I'm the only one who's not all caught up. Anyone care to fill me in?"

I stand up and smile, "Emma—"

_Smack!_

A number of people flinch or gasp when Emma suddenly slaps me across the face, but before I can even react to that, her arms are around me and she's hugging me so tightly that I can barely breathe. I struggle, for a moment, to find the right reaction, my face still numb and my mouth agape with shock, but eventually, I settle for a return-hug.

I open my eyes and give the others a reassuring smile over Emma's shoulder. "I missed you." She murmurs before pulling away and gives me some space. "You." Emma says to Bobby, who's been gawking at her since she arrived, "My bags are out front. Fetch them for me, will you?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" Is his excited reply and he scrambles to do her bidding, and incidentally reveals Nightcrawler, who had been standing just a ways behind him. I see him. And I see Emma see him. Something registers in her face and she turns back to me, her mouth open and her brow knitted as she says, "Is—is that…your—?" She starts to say, pointing between myself and Kurt and I shake my head rapidly, "Nooo, no, no, no—No." I say quickly.

"He's not—?"

"No."

"But he looks just like—"

"Mm, uhm." I shake my head slowly this time and she frowns with a, "Huh." Before turning around with a flourish towards the Professor, "Now," She says grandly as Bobby hobbles in carrying a suitcase as large as he is with a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. "Where's my room?"

* * *

**One of my shorter chapters but again I like it so...that probably means I'll come out with a 5000 word chapter next time! Until then, however, I bid you a good night...**

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	16. Chapter 16 Forget About It

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but my words and OC's. Thank you and Enjoy! ;D**

Chapter 16: Forget About It

It was made painfully clear right off that things wouldn't be back to their jolly state for a while. Not after our little melodrama in the living room. As I walked with Emma to her room, I couldn't help but sense the weird sense of reverse-déjà vu as Logan and I show her to her room. Like the day Angel showed myself and my friends to our rooms—the day we joined Magneto. Emma seems to sense this as well because she says, "So this is what it feels like."

"Hm?" I ask, though I know very well what she means.

"To move to a strange place with strange people…" She looks down at me but I don't quite meet her eye. I really don't want to do this now. "It—must have been hard for you—"

"Emma?" I interrupt before we can take a trip down memory lane. Logan walks only a few paces a head of us, lugging Emma's bags with ease, and I know he can hear. I'd rather he didn't.

"Yes?"

I grapple for what to say when a very good question comes to mind, "Why do you look so…I mean everyone else has aged—well, most of us anyway—" I smirk towards Logan who turns his head ever so slightly but says nothing. "So…why do you—"

"My diamond form, as well as my astral projection, allows for a small degree of regeneration." She explains. "I age slower than most but…not like your friend there." She says, eyeing Logan, her eyes scanning from his broad shoulders and lingering much further south. "Long time no see, Logan."

He half turns, flashes us a smile, and continues on.

I feel a spike of jealousy so sudden that it surprises me almost as much as it does Emma, who glances at me quickly, having sensed the abrupt slope in my emotions. She does a double take as I put a mental wall over my thoughts (chastising myself for dropping it in the first place) and a huge smile breaks over her face. She takes in a deep breath, ready to unleash some sort of witty remark, I'm sure, but I give her a look promising a swift and sure death, and she shuts up just before we reach one of the guest rooms. Her room.

Logan throws the door open, and somehow manages to fit Emma's suit case through the door open door. She gives me an excited smile, pointing after Logan rapidly before following him inside. I hesitate, then follow after just as Logan is leaving and we meet half way through the door. We collide and awkwardly squeeze past each other, muttering apologies before finally breaking apart.

"Emma." He nods to her in parting and she twiddles her fingers at him.

"I'll, ah, see you later." He says to me and I nod silently, waving him off and hurriedly shutting the door. Emma breaks out in loud laughter and I grimace, motioning for her to shut up, but she cries out regardless, "I can see you've not had trouble moving on!"

"What…_is it_ with you _English_ women and embarrassing me?" I hiss in frustration, remembering the woman from the bar. Wounded Deer... "He might've heard you!"

"Well, what's the problem with that?" She asks, sitting on the bed with the elegant cross of her legs.

I sigh and take a seat at the foot of the bed and she leans back on her elbows. She purses her lips, then says, "He likes you."

"Hmm…" Is my initial response, but when she sits up and asks, "What's the matter?" I crack like an egg.

"Emma, I—I saw something today."

She sits up once more, sobering up immediately, "Saw what?"

"I…It's probably nothing but…" I'm about to dismiss it but Emma grasps my forearm and says, "Perhaps it will be easier if I take a look."

I hesitate. I've always hated the idea of someone floating around in my head, but I decide to allow it; for the sake of rekindling our friendship if nothing else. "Alright."

We sit facing one another and she touches my temples with the tips of her fingers, " 'Lead me, Elizabeth.' " Her voice says in my head. " 'Take me where you want to go.' "

I do as she commands, and attempt to clear my thoughts of anything else.

Which automatically makes me think of everything else.

In a flash, I'm standing back in the living room with Tabitha yelling at me…The atmosphere is hazy, with a dream-like blur that separates memory from reality. "_He was standing in the middle of the road."_ She's saying as I stand there, remembering. _"…And you-you got out of the truck…"_

Suddenly, the memory shifts and I'm there, in the snow, watching myself climb out of that rusty old truck, a pressing a glove into my jumpsuit where a jagged piece of metal had pierced my side. I watch this as Tabitha's voice echoes in my mind, _"You got out of the truck and you left us!"_

In one second, I'm watching this memory as if completely removed from the situation all together. Then suddenly Creed is on top of me and I'm crying out as someone takes hold of my shoulder, bringing me back to reality. Emma pats me on the cheek repeatedly and I open my eyes and find myself—not in the snowing forest of Canada—but in Emma's room in Westchester.

I'm safe.

"I—I'm sorry," I choke out, realizing I'd cried aloud. "I don't know what happened."

"Those children in that truck," Emma says softly. "They were in the living room just now, weren't they?"

I nod, and she says, "_That's_ what all that was about."

Again I nod.

"But that's not what you wanted to talk about." Emma adds and I tighten my lips by way of saying "No."

"Let's try again," Emma says. "I know we didn't quite cover this back in our training sessions," She explains and I smile softly. Good times… "But when you dabble with anything pertaining to memories, you must learn to focus your mind. Sort through your emotions. I will help you. Now…" She takes a deep breath and assumes the position for mindreading, "Focus."

With Azazel fresh on my mind, I find it much easier to take us back to earlier today with Angel, and soon, Emma and I are standing side by side in the mall as throws of people pass by (and right through) us. Everyone moves in slow motion, which I don't quite remember. But when I voice my concerns, Emma merely tells me that in moments of shock, memories tend to slow down, "Which _could_ help us get a better look at what's going on behind the scenes."

"Well here I come now." I say as Angel and I walk out of the store, Angel with his freshly bought purchase and me making my little quip about not having kids. "Now there's a sight…" Emma says, her eyes finding Warren and I roll my eyes, waiting for that moment when I first spot the man I believed to be Azazel.

"Look!" I whisper upon seeing my reaction. " 'Ugh, did I look like that all day?' " I think to myself and flinch when I hear my own voice echo around the air. I look to Emma for an explanation and she smirks, "It's your mind, you know. No internal dialogue here. And everyone looks bad in hindsight." She adds smugly.

We tune back into the action.

My own memory of myself is barely starting across the catwalk, trying to get to the man at that kiosk, and Emma takes hold of my wrist and begins to drag me along. We wordlessly begin to cut through the crowd but I can hardly make out his face when the crowd begins to thicken, though it does not speed up.

I can't see him.

As more and more people invade my memory, we start to become stranded between all of the bodies. Too many people...

I start to panic, "What's happening, Emma?" I cry out to her when I become jammed between Coach Saunders, the woman from the bar and the clerk from the jewelry store, all pressing in against me with eerily blank faces. I look around and spot Clark a distance off as well as a number of people I passed by earlier this week. "Most of these people weren't even _at_ the mall!"

"You're too afraid!" Emma calls out to me, rising above the crowd using levitation.

"Afraid of what?" I call back, managing to squeeze past the clerk only to run into Colonel Trask and his MRD's. I gasp and fall back into Magneto's arms but quickly wrestle myself away, panting and sweating as more people I recognize press in.

"You're afraid of what you might see." Emma tells me, moving in close but when she reaches for me, but Wanda lifts a hand and blocks her from me with her telekinetic abilities. "Let go of your fear or you'll never find what you're looking for!"

Like zombies, the people around me begin to echo Emma's words. "Find what…" "Find what you seek…" "What…" "Looking for…" "What are you looking for…?" "The Key…" "Code is the Key…" "Essex..."

I start to panic once more as Senator Kelly makes a grab for my arm, William Stryker taking my hold of my other arm. Someone has my hair. I feel claws rake my scalp. Metal encases my legs and Mystique is on my shoulder, a crow, trying to peck at my eyes as Colonel Stryker and Cortez along with their Mutant bodyguards surround the area. There's a sharp pain in my abdomen and a voice in my ear, "We went back to find you…" The Monster whispers in my ear. "Why weren't you there?" His voice lingers in the air, chills my blood. Then—

"It makes killing you easier, Da?"

"No!" I scream, my hands coming over my ears to drown out the sound and I sink to the floor as they close in around me. Then a voice floats through the air and whispers, " 'Let it goooo…' "

I pant for a while then squeeze my eyes shut and focus on steadying my breathing as I begin to count: 1 second…2seconds…3seconds…4seconds…5seconds…6seconds…

It was my coping mechanism in the prison cells on Stryker's Island and always had been as long as I could remember. And by the time I get to 46seconds the air is painfully silent and I open my eyes to find myself utterly alone except for a pair of shiny, black business shoes and black slacks, standing just before me.

Curious, I lift my head and find someone looking down at me.

The man at the kiosk.

I slowly get to my feet but he's still taller than me. "Emma…" I whisper but she's no where in sight. I turn, searching for her, but when I turn back around to search in the other direction, I find the Azazel impersonator is no longer there. I give a start and back up into something solid.

I quickly turn around and then the man's hands are around my throat.

"You need me, Da?" He asks in a Russian accent as I pry at his hands, his skin darkening into a deep red shade, like blood soaking a white towel, just as a long tail sprouts from behind his back. And then he transforms into the woman at the bar, smiling sweetly as she whispers, "Forget about it."

And then she lets me go and I'm falling down into a crushing darkness. It pulls at my core and suffocates me until...

I gasp, surfacing to find myself once again in Emma's grasp.

"What—" I ask through labored breaths. "What did you see?"

"I saw as you saw," Emma tells me helpfully. "There is much conflict deep inside of you and it's eating you up from the inside. If you do not let go of your fears, sooner or later they will catch up with you."

"I don't know how." I say finally, shaking my head in dismay. "Whenever I try, it feels more like I'm running from my fears, not leaving them behind." I manage to get myself to calm down and say, "I just wanted to know if-if what I saw was real."

Emma thinks about this a moment before saying, "I sense deception, whether it is from a traitor in your midst or your inability to trust anyone at the moment, there is much uncertainty within you. I believe that this apparition may have been a result of those feelings."

"So, you're saying I was hallucinating?"

"It is possible—" She begins to explain but abruptly stops when I get up. "I'm sorry—"

"No," I say quickly before she can apologize further. "No, really, you've—you've really helped me out, Emma." I assure her with a smile. "All this time I've been wondering why I can't seem to catch a break and I see now that I'm just…trying to catch my breath." I give a small huff of laughter at the thought. "I can't let it go because I won't_ let myself _let go. I'm so afraid that I'm not doing enough or that I'm doing too much that I can't just…_Forget about it_…" I murmur, straightening up. Of course...

"Thank you, Emma." I say, moving to embrace her once more. "It really is good to see you. I've missed you."

"And I you, my friend." Emma returns, embracing me right back. I pull back with a happy sigh, and say, "Now if you don't mind, I think there's something I've got to do."

Emma nods and says just before I leave, "Go get him."

I leave her room feeling better than I have in days.

I don't need to worry anymore. I just need to _forget about it_. The past is just that and while I can't completely purge it from my memory forever, I don't need to suffer through it either. The present is chaotic enough as it is, with the MRD spiraling out of control and mutants wanting to start an uprising against all of mankind…I'll need to be here 100 percent of the time.

And what better way to come to this conclusion than by following a little sage advice…

I find Logan right where I expect to, back in the living room, right by the Christmas tree. Everyone else has gone back to what they were doing before (preparing for tomorrows' party) but he waits for me to return. And when I do, he starts toward me, a question on his lips, "Belay that question for a second, will you?" I breathe as I approach him at a fast pace and before he can get out a word, I rise on my toes, butterflies in my stomach, I take his face in my hands and press my lips against his.

He freezes a moment, shocked. Then his arms wrap around me and by the time we pull away my lips are numb and we're both breathing hard. "What was that for?" He asks, his voice husky and low and I smirk and lean in a second time. But not before replying in a similar voice, "Forget about it."

* * *

I open my eyes to find it's already light outside. The birds are chirping, a light snow as begun just outside where the window is parted just so….It's a really nice morning. And I feel fantastic!

I stretch out a bit, smiling to myself and I'm about to go back to sleep when my eye catches the time on the clock on top of the night stand: 11:23 AM.

The guests arrive at 1:00 PM and there's still a ton of errands we've still gotta run.

I sit up so quickly that I get dizzy and I have to pause a few second before turning to the man sleeping next to me and shaking his shoulder, "Logan…" I whisper and move a little closer, leaning against his frame and shaking his shoulder again. "Loooggaaann!" He stirs a little but doesn't get up. I lean over him and say in a much louder whisper, "_Logan!"_

He groans and rolls over, throwing an arm around me and pushing me back against the pillows, resting his head on my stomach, mumbling, "Ten minutes."

"No, ten minutes!" I say through my laughter when his voice vibrates against my abdomen. I've always been incredibly ticklish. "We were supposed to be up already. Now, come on!"

He groans again and I find myself giggling like an idiot, "Would you stop it?" I hiss as he pulls me closer and starts growling in my neck, his arms wrapping around my waist. Laughing hysterically, I try (thought not very hard) to wriggle away and we wrestle around but quickly come to a halt when there's a knock at the door.

"Mr. Looooogan!" Kitty calls through the door. I stop breathing, my hands in his hair and his face pressed into my bosom. He now lifts his head as Kitty calls, "Are you, like, up yet? The Professor want you to put up the rest of the lights. Hellooooo!"

"Yeah, yeah," Logan grunts as I stifle my laughter with a hand. "Alright, alright! Tell Chuck to keep his shirt on an' I'll be right down."

"Uuuh, okay." Is Kitty's muffled reply and I breathe a sigh of relief, muttering, "I thought she was going to come in."

"Nah," Logan says, letting me up so he can throw a shirt on. "Told the pups I sleep in the nude. Keeps 'em out…most of the time."

I purse my lips and think about this a moment. He's shorter than average, that's for certain. But for what he lacks in height he makes up for in muscle and stature and…other things. "Might do a better job if you _actually_ slept in the nude…" I mumble and he turns, looking somewhat surprised. I shrug casually and get up, making my way for the door, saying nonchalantly, "Just a suggestion!"

I brush past him and he snatches me around the waist and murmurs, "I'll take that under advisement."

"Mm, you do that." I reply before phasing away and disappearing into the hall with one last smirk_. This could work,_ I tell myself. _This could…definitely work._

Consider it, forgotten.

* * *

There was no way to get close to the Mansion without being spotted.

There were cameras everywhere and it was made painfully clear that _She_ knew his face, even with his disguise. And, having no way to alter the device that allowed him this disguise, it wasn't safe to even risk it. So he watched from afar. The day before had been an eventful one.

He had followed her movements through the kitchen window as she prepared a number of exotic dishes. He made note of everything; not only about her but about those around her. He took in the way she interacted with the students around her, how they were so comfortable around her, and how the teachers seemed to feel the same.

With the exception of the tall, African woman with white hair, who often cast the girl loathsome glances out of the corner of her eye. He had learned the day before that, at the Bayville Mall, that the one She called Angel was in love with the African woman, who no doubt reciprocated these feelings. Perhaps the African woman was suspicious of the time Angel spent with Her: The woman from his dreams.

Elizabeth.

He could scarcely say her name, it filled him with such…resentment. Even more so when, he had watched her lock lips with that man with the oddly shaped hair. He'd wanted to attack so badly then but his better judgment outweighed the sudden urge.

What he found more interesting was their little soap drama that had taken place in the living area just a little while before.

Working for a number of wealthy employers with questionable suppliers had its perks and he was able to listen in on their conversation with a radio signal that could be pick up sounds from a distance. Implanting the speaker had been tricky, but with a long range launcher and an open window it was possible.

Anyway, the conversation—or rather, argument—had begun with the other white-haired girl with moth wings approaching Her in the living room. The conversation had started out simple enough, but soon bloomed into much more; with the Mothgirl screaming and the Ghostgirl just staring, looking as bewildered as Azazel felt, listening to her.

It didn't make sense what the Mothgirl was saying, yet at the same time it rang true.

She was blaming the Ghostgirl for dying apparently, only there had been some sort of mix up and etcetera and etcetera but by the end of that whole spiel Azazel came to a very firm conclusion,

The Ghostgirl had, at one point, died and come back to life and that there was a large portion of her life that needed accounting for. How long, Azazel couldn't be sure. But he suspected about 17 years.

Now he watched her leave that man's room, the urge returning, as she made her way to her own room. He quickly lost her, however, as she kept her window curtained. Smart.

Dropping his binoculars, Azazel stood. He had questions, but he knew he wouldn't be able to find out much more until he could interrogate someone.

He heard a sudden noise and quickly ducked back down when someone appeared on the front lawn of the Xavier Institute. It was the furry, blue-haired boy with the spaded tail.

His son.

Again, Azazel picked up his binoculars and studied the boy, who was soon joined by the man with the strange hair. "Hurry up, Logan!" The boy was shouting in a German accent. Azazel couldn't recall ever going to Germany, but who knew?

He'd been many places in his travels. Why not Germany?

Azazel couldn't hear the man called Logan's reply. He was far enough away to where he couldn't make out what was being said, but close enough to have cause to worry when Logan suddenly lifted his head and smelled the air, closing his eyes.

Azazel ducked down as the man turned in his direction, but when the man dismissed the scent and returned to his work (which appeared to be decorating, Azazel observed) Azazel returned to his spying—though he preferred to think of it as reconnaissance, not stalking.

He observed the boy with curiosity; Kurt, they called him.

The boy possessed his gift for teleportation as well as Azazel's signature tail, but everything else was very different; right down from the boys fingers to his toes. There was no mistaking the boy's heritage, with the exception of the boy's mother. Azazel would have to investigate further for that particular discovery.

Eventually, he grew bored, however, and stood. He had questions that needed answering but now was not the time or the place. He had other places to visit and other people to seek out. But he would be back for Her.

Soon.

* * *

**More chapters soon!**

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	17. Chapter 17 Kisses and Brimstone

**DISCLAIMER: You know what it is...Enjoy!**

Chapter 17: Kisses and Brimstone

The Christmas party couldn't have gone more perfectly.

The mansion was jam packed with more people than I'd imagined, and I had to run out several times to get more chips, dips, sweets, and sodas. By the time I'd finished running all of my errands, my arms were sore and dark had already fallen.

Dinner went off without a hitch, which is really saying something because there were so many people. And tears were shed when old family and friends came to visit, including none other than my old friends, Donovan and Havok. And by old, I mean old. They've aged so much! And Donovan's hairline is beginning to recede, which I've constantly been making fun of him for. We spent most of that afternoon, in fact, just talking and laughing and catching up. And to avoid any unnecessary drama, I forbade all mention of the past, meaning anything happening seventeen years ago.

Now, as we sit in the living room—fat and lazy from Dinner—we begin the gift exchange. We start with the White Elephant game since that one usually takes the longest to do (with everyone trying to steal each others' gifts back and forth) so we only allow one steal per person.

By the end of it, I've got a new coffee maker and the Professor—hilariously—a blonde wig, which he now wears on his bald head. These and other weird gifts are just the beginning of the gift exchange, however, because now it's time for our little Secret Santa.

I nudge Angel and say loudly, "I think Warren should go first."

My suggestion is met by murmurs of agreement and soon enough more than half the room as chanting Warrens' name until he's forced to get up and present his gift. He walks around for a minute, as if this is a game of duck-duck-goose, making the students giggle, before finally stopping before Ororo.

She blushes deeply as he holds out her gift. She takes it tentatively and we all wait in anticipation as she lifts the lid and a gasp escapes her lips. "Oh, Warren…" She murmurs, lifting the necklace so it shimmers brightly in the light of the Christmas tree.

"Merry Christmas, Ororo." He says softly and they're both so busy staring at one another that neither of them notice Jean and Kitty sneak up behind them. That is until Kurt, hanging from the ceiling, says, "Look vhat I've got!"

They both look up to see the little bushel of mistletoe in Kurts' hand just as Jean and Kitty give them a little nudge. The rest of the room cheers as the two finally share a shy kiss.

Once the laughter and whistling has died down, it's Ororo's turn to give her gift, a volume of ancient, African proverbs and story-telling which Hank accepts most excitedly. But before he can delve into the massive book, he passes a multi-purpose tool-belt to Logan who in turn passes a pink, decorated pocket knife to a puzzled Kitty.

The exchange goes on for a while before it lands on Rogue and she stands up with her small, square gift and wordlessly walks up to me. I stand up to accept it, smiling brightly as she says, "I wasn't sure what to get you so I just…" Her voice trails off as I unwrap the hand-painted picture frame.

I feel tears invade my eyes and a warm feeling bloom in my chest. It's one of the pictures we had all taken at that head-swapping photobooth at the mall; the week that I first woke up. And while our heads aren't swapped in this one, you can tell there was a lot of work put in it to really make the picture something special.

It must have taken her ages to do.

"Thank you, Rogue." I say thickly as I wrap her in a tight embrace. "It's perfect."

And it really is. It brings with it the promise of a happy future. One that isn't as far away as I once believed.

I pass around the frame for everyone to see and then it's my turn. To Scott I give a pair of tickets to a _Stone Ciphers_ concert that he and Jean had been talking about going to for a while. And when I heard they'd be in town, I immediately went out and bought the tickets.

I had them to Scott with a wink, "For you and a_ friend_…"

He blushes and takes Jean's hand in his before thanking me and going to give his own gift. This continues until everyone comes full circle, with the Professor giving Warren a special grooming set just for his wings. Now it's just everyone wandering around, giving out gifts left and right, with the teens attacking the Christmas tree like there's no tomorrow.

Eventually, Warren wanders over to me, that same box in his hands. I smirk and take it. I open the box and the smile that had been on my face fades like water sliding off of a glass surface. My heart pounds as I lift the rusted locket from its foamy cushion and hold it up in the light as Warren says, "Went through quite a bit of hell to get this one but…I think it was worth it."

I open the locket.

Inside, on the left side, is a tiny, faded picture of my mother and father and a small child sitting in between them. On the right is a larger picture of that same child, smiling a gap-toothed grin in her gaudy dress and bowties.

"You look good with curlicues." Warren comments with a sly grin.

"That's not me." I say numbly, staring at the picture.

"What?" Warren asks, leaning over my shoulder as I start to remove it from the locket. "I thought—When I called your parents, they said—they said they had only one daughter."

"As far as my mother was concerned," I reply softly, removing the tiny picture of my little sister to reveal a much older photo of myself, my face scratched out with a razor blade. "I never_ was_ her daughter."

I silently replace the photo of my little sister in its rightful place, closing it with a soft click. "Thank you Warren…Really," I add when I see his guilt-stricken look. "This is…this is just what I needed." To further reassure him, I give Angel a tight hug before excusing myself and calmly heading outside.

I manage to slip outside without attracting any unwanted attention and am immediately met with a blast of frosty air. The wind and the bitter cold does wonders to help clear my head and I wander into the garden, where I take a seat on the bench at the memorial.

For a moment, I just stare ahead, the locket pressed to my lips.

I wonder how Warren managed to get it. Though…with his connections, I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised.

I recline back, lying down on the stone bench with the locket held open in front of me. The lights blazing all over the garden area make it easier for me to see the pictures inside. I got none of my looks from my mother. Her fair features, bright hazel eyes and slender figure all went to my younger sister, where as my father's more dark and exotic looks have grown more prominent in my own features.

Sit up and look to the window, where I can see people dancing and carrying on, Christmas music blaring and cheering filling the air.

I smile a little and close the locket.

Maybe someday, I'll visit my parents. See if maybe their opinions of me have changed. Maybe someday, I'll seek out my sister. Maybe someday, I'll return to my home back in Colorado.

But not now. Not today. Not while I have friends that care about me and a family that needs me.

I get up and go back inside but not before glancing around once with the odd feeling that someone—somewhere—Is watching me.

* * *

We watch movies well into the night.

Most of the students have fallen asleep and it's only when Emma gently shakes me awake that I realize I had fallen asleep, too. I get up, careful not to wake Rogue, who had fallen asleep against my shoulder, and we (along with Warren, Logan, and Ororo) help put the kids to sleep, one by one.

I'm just getting Rogue settled in, pulling off her large, combat boots, when she wakes up slightly, murmuring something in her sleep restlessly. I pull the blankets over her shoulders and say gently, "Shhh, go back to sleep now." She sighs and her eyes close once more.

I gently close the door just as Logan emerges from Nightcrawler's room, running a hand tiredly through his hair. "Kids sure know how to party," I comment, thinking back to that little karaoke dance-off with a slight grimace. I'd joined in the fun, of course, but I haven't really gotten down in years and now my shoulders and legs ache like crazy.

"Heh," Logan chuckles. "Didn't know you could move like that. Didn't know_ anyone_ could move like that…" He adds with a laugh, keeping his voice down so as not to wake the kids.

"Hey, I didn't see you up there." I retort just as quietly and start back for the living room. "C'mon, let's hurry and put the others to bed. I'm about to pass out over here."

We put everyone to bed and see Donovan and Havok out (as they already have to fly back to Sydney for their own Holiday celebrations back in Australia) and Storm walks Warren out as well.

"Tomorrows' gonna be quiet," Warren says, waving with the rest of us as Donovan and Alex drive away. Now we're just waiting for his cab to arrive. "How the hell're we gonna keep busy?"

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find a way." Storm says with a slight blush, her hand entwined with Warrens', then quickly adds, "We've still got Rogue and Scott with us, after all."

"I don't know about you," Logan says with a groan. "But I'm goin' into hibernation as of tonight."

"I don't know, Logan," Warren says teasingly. "I might just drop by and take you on a flight. I know how much you love flying…"

"Try it and I'll tear ya to shreds."

"What about you, Liz?" Warren as Storm and I chuckle over the mental image of Logan being dragged through the clouds, spitting curses and slashing at the air with his claws. "Any plans for Christmas day?"

"Rogue and I were talking about going out to watch them light that big tree in the town square. We'll probably take Scott along with if he's up to it. You're all welcome to come," I add, glancing at Logan. "If you want. I just don't want them to feel left out." I add, thinking back to how down they both looked as their friends bragged about going home to their families.

Rogue was especially sullen but I'm sure Scott was feeling the same. He's just better at hiding it than most.

"I'm up for that," Warren is saying and Ororo nods in agreement, probably willing to go anywhere as long as it's with him. They're actually pretty cute together. Logan mumbles something about not having anything better to do but gives a smirk when I glance at him.

We watch Warren leave and head back inside.

Storm bids us goodnight and then makes a B-line for her room, her fingers on the figure of her necklace and a small smile on her lips. Logan and I start to head off but right before we leave the living room something catches my eye. I stop and so does Logan but I wave him off, saying, "I'll be right there."

I go to investigate and discover a small box lying in the far reaches of the Christmas tree. I reach into the branches and pull it out, scanning for a card but I find none. It looks like someone left their present here. Probably from the White Elephant thing earlier.

I set the box back inside the tree, making a note to call everyone up tomorrow to see who it belongs to. I would have opened it (just to see what was inside) but for whatever reason…I don't. But instead put out the fire in the fireplace and cup a hand over my nose.

It smells like brimstone in here.

* * *

Warren was onto something when he said it would be quiet the next morning.

I was so used to the sounds of kids running around, arguing, and loud explosions from teens with more…unstable abilities, that I was downright unnerved when I woke up to utter silence. "Welcome back," Logan mumbles, still half asleep and I smile softly, running a hand through his hair, which I know he likes.

"Do you hear that?" I ask and he give a low groan, saying, "Mmmm….Silence."

"Oh, yeah."

I get up and start on breakfast, being the only one fully awake at the moment, and put on some tunes while I'm at it; some of that pop music I've really grown fond of. I'm just in the middle of whipping up some French toast and dancing to some Brittney (I think) when I'm caught, mid-krump, by Rogue who says smugly, "Looks like someone had a good night."

I clear my throat and smooth out my hair, blushing, "Oh, ah, Good morning, Rogue. Ready for tonight?"

"Definitely," Rogue replies, heading straight for the coffee pot. "I've always wanted to go but…never got the chance." She moves to sit at the counter in front of me. "Thanks for taking us."

"No problem," I say automatically with the casual flip of my spatula. "Warren's coming, too, if you don't mind." I add but she blushes and says, "Nah, he's alright." She seems to be thinking about something and I take the skillet off the stove to look at her, asking, "Are_ you _alright?"

"I—I was just wonderin'…about before…" Her voice trails off but I know what she's talking about. I quickly glance around to see if Logan is anywhere to be seen. Last time I checked, he had passed out once more; exhausted from last night's activities. "I mean," Rogue continues before I can say anything. Her voice is growing frantic as she continues on, saying, "If Magneto_ did _know somethin' about your body, shouldn't we be out there looking for it? I mean you haven't even told me about what happened and I—"

"Rogue, Rogue!" I call to her quietly and she calms down to listen. I sigh, "Listen, I know this might not make sense but—I can't…do that right now. Picking a fight with Essex would be like exposing ourselves to the MRD. It's suicide—"

"So it _was_ Essex!" Rogue cries out, ignoring my frantic hushing. "_Ah knew it!_ We have to tell the Professor—"

"That won't be necessary!" I say quickly, lunging forward to stop her from bolting out of the room.

"What?!" She cries, looking offended and automatically pulls away from me, yanking on one of her sleeves.

"There's no point." I respond, trying desperately to dissuade her from telling. "We can't go after the guy! And even if we did, what then? We still don't know what to do with my body and it seems to me like Essex knows what he's doing…" My voice trails off when I see the look of utter horror on her face. I sigh and say, "The truth is, I don't _want _to go after Essex. Not yet." I add quickly. "I'm just getting settled in, Rogue. I—" I bite my lip, fighting to explain myself. "I'm not ready for something like that."

She seems to understand because she straightens up, chewing on the inside of her cheek. I take the opportunity to say, "Actually…that's something I've been meaning to ask you about, Rogue….I need your help."

"Me?" Rogue asks, surprised and somewhat—flattered. "What d'you need help with?"

"I've heard that you're an exceptional fighter," I say, which is true. "And_** I**_ am a terrible fighter." Also true. "I was hoping you could teach me. If you have the time." I add, not wanting her to feel pressured. "If not, I completely understand—"

"No, no! I'd_ love_ to teach you!" Rogue exclaims, excitement shinning in her eyes. "But why do you need _my _help? I mean, you're, like, one of the most powerful mutants here."

I blush at that. I honestly don't think so. My abilities, in theory, are very powerful but…I haven't the slightest idea of how to use them. Just the basics if even that. I'm still learning. "Maybe," I say doubtfully. "But without my abilities, I'm nothing. Ever since I ran into those MRD's and their collars..." I shiver. "I never want to be caught like that again. I have to able to protect myself."

I can't rely on my powers any more. Especially not with my powers being as flaky as they are. Because the truth is, I was struggling long before the MRD's brought in those inhibitor collars. All it takes is a twisted arm, or a broken bone or varying amounts of pain to completely throw me off my focus.

"So, do you…think you could help me out?" I ask finally and look up to see she's already taken a stance. "Well not right now—" I start to say but Rogue punches me lightly in the arm with one gloved hand before bobbing away on light footing. She's fast.

"Yes right now!" She argues. "Or are you just gonna lay down the next time the MRD comes a' knockin'?"

Damn. She's right.

She lunges for me again but this time I manage to clumsily block her with my wrist but I'm so focused her one attack that I'm not prepared for the second in a second she's got me in a hold, with one arm pinned behind my back and my left leg rendered immobile by one of hers looped around it. _How the hell did she do that?!_ I wonder in awe.

Unable to escape from the hold, I'm forced to wait for her to decide I've given up before Rogue lets me go and I can breathe again.

"Yer fast but you're too focused," She says which surprises me. I'm always being told I need to focus more. Not focus less. "Y' have to let go when you fight or you'll over-think it and get caught. I know it sounds weird but it works. But hey, you've got the right idea! That's sumthin'!"

"Yay." I say as I roll my shoulder. "And, ah, how exactly do you not…over-think it?"

"Practice." She says simply, then adds. "And don't focus on one attack at a time. Expect many attacks and never drop yer guard."

It's like Mystique told me once, "Never assume your opponent is done attacking." I say mostly to myself.

"Exactly." Rogue says with a smirk, putting her gloved hands on her hips. "See, you're already learnin'!"

I feel the corners of my mouth lift, "Thanks, Rogue," I murmur, then get into a stance and ask, "Now, how do I get out of a hold?"

* * *

**More chapters to come and confrontation is on the horizon! **

**~THESCRIBE!**


	18. Chapter 18 Passed Tense

**I have returned! And I bear chapters. Here. Now. Enjoy ;D**

Chapter 18: Passed Tense

Rogue and I spend a few more minutes messing around before we both get hungry and eat some breakfast. A while later, however, still excited to teach me from this morning, Rogue drags me off to the Danger Room; a place I've only heard of up until now, and it's every bit as large and intimidating as I'd imagined it would be.

"Forge just finished with the repairs last week," Rogue explains as we ascend into the large circular dome that makes a sort of watchtower high above the arena that is the Danger Room. "It should be up and running…"

She starts pressing a number of buttons and flipping switches and I walk cautiously over to the window to watch in awe as the arena transforms into a training area, complete with mats, dummies, and a number of punching bags.

"Heads up!" She calls and I barely manage to turn around and throw out my hands before she chucks a duffle bag at me, slinging one of her own over her shoulder. "Let's get started."

Rogue starts off slow enough, showing me first and foremost a few stretches that will ensure that I won't break anything; some of which I have a hard time completing. Just watching her stretch, I can tell Rogue is a pro and I find myself more than a little nervous about training with her. I don't want to embarrass myself.

"Alright," Rogue says, getting to her feet and I do the same. "I'm gonna teach you some basic stuff now, 'Kay?"

I nod and follow her instructions carefully and exactly. She shows me a number of punches, kicks, and blocks, which I practice on dummies propped up by metal stands. We take a few breaks, during which she tells me what I'm doing right and what I can improve on as well as about how she got interested in self-defense. I learned from her that, having abilities that drain the strength of others—humans included—and going to a school were bullies were all too common, Rogue thought learning to fight would be a better alternative than to really have to hurt them.

And here I'm only learning so I can hurt them more.

We delve back into holds for a while, going over how to get out of them and how to put people in them by exposing weak points and using an opponents' weight against them. I find this most helpful but after a while of both of us being thrown and restrained, we decide to switch gears to avoid injury. What's next?

Combinations.

Oh, god.

I can't believe how terrible I am at this! While it's true that I can learn combinations well enough and can use them against a dummy fairly well…it's nearly impossible for me to put them into effect against a live opponent.

And Rogue, I can tell, is going easy on me!

"I just don't know what it is," I breathe as Rogue extends a hand and hauls me up. "I'm not very good at handling more than one attack at a time."

"Well, you do well blocking…" Rogue says tentatively, confirming that I'm a terrible offense.

I smirk in spite of my disappointment at myself and say, "Thanks for helping me out, Rogue. I'd like to learn more when you get the chance."

"Well," Rogue says as we start packing up to leave. It's about 12:23 PM and we've still got a while to go before the lighting of the tree in the square. "Once the holidays're over, it's back ta work. Mister Logan and Hank'll be back to training us. You can train with us!" She adds enthusiastically as we leave the Danger Room.

"That's right," I murmur, feeling kind of stupid. "I forgot you guys train here when you're not at school."

"Yup. I learned everything I know from Logan." She smiles and adds with a sassy smirk, "Didn't hurt that I've been takin' taekwondo since ah was seven years old."

She starts telling me more about taekwondo, life back on the bayou (before she moved to Bayville) and how she'd first discovered her abilities and I'm so engrossed in what she's saying that I don't notice that we're not alone as we reenter the kitchen. That is until I hear Emma give a sultry chuckle and look up to see her leaning across the table, a hand on her cheek and a smile on her lips as Logan tells her something about Gambit (a name I haven't heard in a while), and I can't help but feel she's a little...too close. They both stop once they see us and Emma smiles at us, "Oh, I didn't see you there."

Ignoring the feeling of tension that pinches at my stomach, I smile and say, "Yeah, we were just down in the Danger Room."

"Danger Room?" Emma echoes in surprise as Logan asks, "Rogue's already workin' you, huh?"

"I asked her to." I reply as Rogue blushes. "You weren't kidding, Logan. She's a lot tougher than me, that's for sure."

"Aww, well…ah wouldn't say that…" Rogue trails off and I offer to make some lunch out of the leftovers from last night. Rogue joins in the conversation with Emma and Logan and I laugh and chip in a few times, but for some reason I can help myself. I keep glancing sidelong at the two of them; conversing and laughing…

I shake my head at myself and begin cutting off a few slices of banana bread that Donovan brought over last night. _I'm being silly, _I tell myself. But just as I do I catch a movement that almost makes me chop my own finger off—Emma's hand on Logan's forearm. I turn away, dumping some dirty dishes from this morning in the sink loudly and when I glance over my shoulder, her hand is back on the table where it bloody-well should be—

I resume chopping the loaves. _Just.(_Chop)_ Being. _(Chop)_ Silly. _(Chop, Chop)…

"Oh, Elizabeth!" Emma calls to me and I pause my chopping, realizing I'd cut about a dozen loaves. "I've been meaning to tell you…"

"Tell me what?" I ask, chasing away my insecurities to listen to what she has to say.

"I was talking to the Professor and…" She pauses for effect before saying, "I might be joining the Institute very soon. I'll be your mentor again!" She adds with a smile and I smile, too.

"That would be great, Emma!" I say and I mean it…mostly. "I need all the help I can get. There's still so much I don't know about my abilities."

"Yes," Emma agrees. "We never did manage to cover much really. If I remember correctly our last training session was about…levitation, was it not?"

"….More or less…" I say hesitantly. We're heading into dangerous territory here, as the mention of past training days begin to surface in my memories.

"Yes, I remember now!" Emma exclaims and turns to Logan and Rogue with a chuckle. "It was the funniest thing. So we're training, right? And I'm trying to teach when suddenly dear Elizabeth starts phasing right through the floor!"

Rogue raises her eye brows, "Really?" and Logan smirks in my direction but I don't quite meet his eye, wishing Emma would shut it.

"Did you fall?" Rogue asks and I open my mouth to bring up another story from another time (back before I ever met Magneto) and was barely learning about my abilities, but Emma cuts me off. "Oh she fell. But her wrist got caught in the ceiling, can you believe it?"

She relays every embarrassing detail of the training mishap, right down to the way I looked at her as she slowly ascended through the floor and left me to figure out how to get out of the ceiling on my own.

"You mean you just left 'er there?!" Rogue exclaims through bubbling laughter and by this time I've already passed a few plates around, though I find I don't have much of an appetite. Tabitha, Dimitri, Storm, Hank and Xavier have since joined our little show and tell and laugh along with everyone else at my misfortune.

"Yes." I say forcefully, still feeling a little bitter at the memory. "And then she had the nerve to laugh at me afterward!" I add, though I too am laughing by now. She hasn't mentioned _you-know-who_ yet, so we're good.

"How on earth did you get down?" Hank questions good-naturedly and everyone looks to me.

"Oh, I—ah—phased through." I say absently, picking at my loaf with my fork. "Landed on a bed, heh…"

"Wait, I remember now!" Emma says much to my horror. "Azazel was there! Goodness that was such a long time ago, wasn't it? Anyway, so Elizabeth phases into someone else's room, right? Well it turns out to be Azazel's room. Ah, it was so hilarious! I never told you this, dear," She says casually, tapping her temple with a finger. "But I saw the whole thing."

I can only shake my head, feeling like a _wounded deer_ caught in headlights as she tells how I did manage to phase through the ceiling and levitate, but that I lost concentration (though, luckily, she didn't say why) and had to be rescued by Azazel before I could land, face first, on the floor.

"Don't worry," Emma assures me. "I cut out after that but the look on your face…." Her voice trails off when she notices the air of unease that settles over our group. "What?" She asks but, probably having read our minds, gives a drawn out, "Ooohhh, come on now! That was years ago. The past is the past and it's not going anywhere any time soon. If we can't laugh about it now we never will."

I take a deep breath, then smile and say, "It—definitely wasn't one of my best moments. But…It was pretty funny."

It was like a cloud lifted off of the room. It took a while but soon enough we're all swapping war stories; from Tabitha and Dimitri's antics back in Genosha to the Professor's countless romps with Magneto. We have a good time of it (watching more movies and listening to Hank and Xavier discuss their hopes and dreams for the future) until finally Warren shows up and we decide to head over before the traffic gets to be too hectic.

The tree is enormous, its width thicker than that of a minivan turned sideways, and the square is already flocked with people of all types, ages, classes, races, and for a moment, I think we all lose ourselves in the crowd. Just enjoying the feeling of…belonging.

"It almost feels like we're…normal." Hank says beside me in his trench coat, and, with Xavier's appearance modifier (much like the one Kurt possesses), he does give the illusion of normalcy. Storm places a hand on his arm and says serenely, "We_ are_ normal."

We wait for the lights to come on but when night falls and the crowd starts to become irritable, we begin to suspect trouble.

And trouble does come—

In the form of the Brotherhood.

"I always hated Christmas!" The large one, Blob, shouts, hurling a parked car at the crowd of people nearest the tree.

I'm already on it.

I throw up a protective shield around the crowd of people, who scream and cower beneath it as the car heads straight for them, but the car never hits the shield. A ray of red light hit's the car just before it reaches the crowd and knocks it back, sending a shower of debris hailing on the energy shield.

I run towards the people, dropping the shield, and usher them away. Some of them give me rushed "thank you"s but others appear to be running away from me. I turn my attention back to the other people in the area. Some of them have gotten a good distance away, running away from the square and stumbling in the dimly lit streets. The only light comes from a number of street lamps and Christmas decorations that light up the shops surrounding the square.

"We must put an end to this fight before the MRD arrives." The Professor cries out in alarm.

The others have already sprung into action, Wolverine, Hank, Storm and Tabitha going for Blob while Dimitri and Scott handle Lance, or Avalanche as he calls himself, the Angel is busy chasing down the disgusting Toad boy as he hops from stoplight to stoplight, spitting green goop on the bulbs. A number of cars swerve as the goo blocks out the light and I hurry forward to try and help them avoid collisions, but as I pass by the tree something else catches my eye.

A blur of white and blue streaks through the square and disappears behind the Christmas tree.

Pietro.

Knowing something's up, I take off in that direction and run out behind the tree where I discover an unconscious Emma lying in the street with blood pouring down her nose. "Emma!" I cry out, kneeling down beside her and, upon further inspection, discover that her nose has been broken.

I look around but Pietro is nowhere to be seen.

I manage to lift the unconscious telepath with a platform of energy and begin to take her over to where the Professor last was monitoring the situation. But when I do, I find that the Professor is no longer there.

Only his wheel chair remains.

I look around wildly, my breathing catching. I turn towards the others (fighting a distance off and well into the streets) and open my mouth to call to them for help, but before I get the chance, that same streak of white rushes past me and knocks me flat on my back; sending Emma plummeting down with me.

I start to scramble up but in another streak, I'm pushed back down, my head thumping painfully against the pavement, and suddenly that white-haired boy is standing over me, his hands on his hips and a sharp smirk on his pointed features. "First thing my Dad taught me about dealing with you X-Men: always take out the telepath first." Pietro says in his nasally voice. He glances down at Emma's body lying a few feet away, "Check—" He says, his eyes flicking to the Professor's wheel chair across the way, "And check."

I throw up a glowing hand to ward him off, but he darts away before my energy blast can reach him and it shoots up into the dark, starry sky like a flare. I hurry to my feet and look around to see him perched on a nearby bus-stop bench, his hand in his chin with a look of amusement on his pale face.

"What have you done with the Professor?" I call to him, staying by Emma in case he tries something.

Again, he darts away, completely disappearing from view in a blur, only to run up behind me, blowing with him a gust of air that swirls around me. So fast... "I can tell you what I _haven't_ done with him." He says in a low voice. "I'm not much for beating up cripples."

I whirl around to elbow him in the face, but the kid jerks his head back—a sporadic movement—and catches my next blow, his thin fingers closing around my wrist. And with a strength that I wouldn't have expected from such a skinny adolescent, Pietro gives my arm a tremendous yank and sends me falling into the gravel. I land on my arm funny, tearing a hole right through my jacket, but my arm doesn't seem to be hurt too badly aside from an ugly scrape that burns when I move.

"What is it you want, Pietro?" I ask, bracing myself for another attack, but his posture is relaxed; lazy, almost. "Why come here and attack these people?"

"Because we can." Pietro replies coolly, standing as still and tall as a post. A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth but his eyes remain cold as he says, "It's fun."

"The MRD should be arriving soon." I say smoothly, unnerved by the chill in his voice. "I suggest you get lost before somebody gets hurt."

Pietro's eyes flick above me, over my right shoulder, and he says with a smirk, "Funny you should say that…"

I whip around, a hand up to ward off an attack but I'm met by a gut larger than the grill of a truck, and pair of meaty fists close around my forearms and lift me clear into the air. I writhe as the Blob stretches out my arms, threatening to tear them from their sockets. I kick out at him but cringe when my shin hits a solid wall of mass.

"You're not very quick, are you?" Pietro quips, climbing onto the Blobs' back like a monkey.

I phase out of the mammoth-boy's grip and land lightly on the ground. "I'm quicker than you think, _boy_." I say, adding emphasis on the "boy" part with a mocking smile, and he narrows his eyes; offended. The smirk disappears from his face faster than it takes me to blink.

"Crush 'er, Blob." He says flatly and the fat boy starts toward me, only to pass right through me. I give a an exaggerated yawn and give Pietro the "Now what?" look. Blob's look too seems questioning (I can tell he's not very bright) but Pietro simply says in a soft voice, "Not _her_," He gives the careless flick of his eyes towards Emma and says, "Her."

No.

Lucky for me, I was right about Blob not being too bright and I catch on long before he puts it together, which gives me a head start. Unfortunately, I'm still not fast enough. Pietro reaches Emma first, one hand grasping the front of her white winter coat (flecked with blood from her busted nose) while the other holds something sharp and silver at her throat. It takes me a minute to recognize the object as a switch blade.

"No!" I say audibly, reaching out a hand but I don't attack. I can't attack. He's too fast. And all it would take is a second…No, he wouldn't! He's just a kid. There's no way. "What is it you _really_ want, Pietro?"

"Haven't guessed it, yet?" He asks maliciously. "Guess you're not as smart as father gives you credit for. Or so I hear. What I want—" The glint in his eye is replaced by a fiery glare, "What I want is a little _respect_ for once in my life." That dangerous smirk returns and he digs the blade into her collar. I flinch, my knees wobbling with anxiety, and a protest on my lips. "And won't father be so proud if I off one of the X-Men…?"

"On the contrary," I say, attempting to keep my voice cool and placid though I'd like nothing more than to scream. "Emma's not an X-Man." I adopt the best authoritative-teacher voice I can and cross my arms with a hard stare, "And I think your father wouldn't be too pleased if he found out you killed one of his oldest friends." Honestly, I don't know if Erik still considers Emma a "friend" or even an ally, but my bluff pays off.

Pietro pales and glances down at Emma, his stony features contorting with sudden uncertainty. "Oh, yeah," I continue, stepping a bit closer whilst he and Blob attempt to piece it all together. "Emma Frost was once a member of the Brotherhood. The _original_ Brotherhood. Just ask Magneto. That is," I add with a shrug. "_If he ever lets you come home again._"

I let my words hang in the air just long enough for Pietro's resolve to wither away before I completely disarm him with a sharp, "_Drop it."_ The knife clatters to the ground and Pietro looks like he's about to cry. And…I feel kind of bad for him.

I give him a small smile, relieved, but he just glowers at me, straightens up and says to Blob, "Let's blow this dump, Blob."

But just as Pietro turns to leave, something shoots out from nowhere and clamps down around his slender throat. An inhibitor collar. Pietro staggers, confused by his inability to speed away, and falls clumsily to his feet as a net large enough to ensnare a deer follows the collar, shooting out from seemingly nowhere and trapping him beneath.

Without completely weighing my options first, I rush over to help him. I start to lift the netting from the struggling boy when I see them—The MRDs—with their guns trained on me. They must have found some way to fire the collars at Mutants from a safe distance away. Another collar shoots out, at me this time, as MRD's fan out around the square, only to pass through me and fall with a clattering sound to the ground.

Another shot rings out.

"Hey!" Blob shouts and I turn to see him staggering a ways behind me, but the collar merely appears to be pinching the skin around his neck, as it's too small to fit around his fat throat. He flexes and the collar shatters, falling to the ground in a shower of sparks.

With thundering foot steps, Blob charges for them and I set to work on freeing Pietro. Knowing he's Erik's son, I feel an odd sort of…obligation to make sure he's safe. I pick up Pietro's fallen switch blade and hack at the netting.

"Hurry up!" Pietro whimpers, clawing at the cords desperately as I fumble to try and sever them without getting a few of his fingers as well.

Frustrated, I pull the blade back, "If you would just—hold still—"

I gasp when I feel something latch onto my hair and pull my head back. I slash at the hand with the knife but whoever has me ducks back and kicks it out of my hand, sending it spinning across the square and completely out of my reach. I feel cool metal encircle my neck; a familiar sensation. The hand doesn't let go of my hair in spite of my desperate clawing, and I hear Johnson's voice (that MRD officer who pinned me down behind the antique shop) hiss in a raspy voice filled with rage, "Remember me?"

I do remember. But I thought he'd been dead. He'd _looked_ pretty dead when I stepped out of the van with Glenn (or _Razor_ as he now class himself) but apparently I couldn't be so lucky...

I lurch forward, landing on my injured shoulder, as he shoves me aside and I quickly turn around to see him standing over me; only there's something different about his face…

And by that I mean it's totally messed up.

A number of ugly stitches mar his face (not completely healed), mangling his jaw and cheeks as well as the area above his right eye. But they don't look like claw marks. More like _teeth_ marks. I shudder with disgust. His eyes are cold as he regards me, "Like it?" He asks, pointing to his face. "Your _little friend_ did that to me. But it's still not as bad as what _we're_ going to do to you—" He makes a grab for me but I turn over, getting my arms beneath me and kicking up high with my right foot.

It catches him in the chest and he falls back. I take the time to scramble up and I rush at him just as he's recovering. I kick him good and hard in the face, a move Rogue taught me earlier today, and several of his stitches near his jaw tear and begin to bleed. He doubles over, screaming in pain and I take off once more for Pietro—

Only he's no longer there.

And neither is Emma.

* * *

**More chapters to come along with the return of a fan favorite! Until then...**

**~THESCRIBE!**


	19. Chapter 19 Old Faces, New Enemies

**DISCLAIMER: I own neither the X-Men nor anyothercharacterswhoshallreturninthisserieshenceforth...Thank you and Enjoy;D**

Chapter 19: Old Faces, New Enemies

_Previously on the New World:_

_His eyes are cold as he regards me, "Like it?" He asks, pointing to his face. "Your little friend did that to me. But it's still not as bad as what we're going to do to you—" He makes a grab for me but I turn over, getting my arms beneath me and kicking up high with my right foot._

_It catches him in the chest and he falls back. I take the time to scramble up and I rush at him just as he's recovering. I kick him good and hard in the face, a move Rogue taught me earlier today, and several of his stitches near his jaw tear and begin to bleed. He doubles over, screaming in pain and I take off once more for Pietro—_

_Only he's no longer there._

_And neither is Emma._

Panicking, I attempt to reach out to someone—anyone but I'm met with nothing but static_. Of course,_ I think to myself. _The collar must be blocking me._

I start to take off in the direction where the other X-Men should still be fighting off the remaining members of the Brotherhood (I can feel the Earth quakes from Avalanche from here) but as I do so, I hear something. A small voice somewhere in the distance—

A weak call for help.

"Pietro!" I cry out, turning on my heel, and I follow the sound, snatching up Pietro's fallen switch blade as I dart across the square. I nearly slip twice on the icy road, but my boots are equipped with excellent grip and I manage to stay afoot. I hear Pietro call out again, "Help me!" and I race into a dark street corner, where the lights have been blown out, to find a struggling Pietro being dragged away in that net by three men, like a hunted animal, towards an armored van. A van not unlike the one I'd been trapped in just days ago.

"Get away from him!" I shout, fueled by a sudden, almost primitive, rage; leaping onto the back of the first guy I see. I knock him to the ground, piercing him in the shoulder with Pietro's blade, and snatch away one of his weapons while he screams; a gun. Ditching the knife, I aim the gun at the group and they scatter, taking cover behind mail boxes, cars (including the armored van) and building corners, and leaving Pietro still trapped in the net on the ground. I myself take cover behind a taxi cab and aim my gun over its hood but when I pull the trigger, nothing happens.

"What?" I whisper audibly and duck behind the cab to examine the weapon. It doesn't appear to be broken. What gives!? The MRD's aren't firing at me. I peek over the hood of the cab and find them pressing in on me, forming a half circle as they inch closer towards the cab.

They mean to capture me, not kill me.

With no other alternative, I take out my communicator (the one given to me on my first day as an X-Man) and call into it:

**Nightshade to X-Men, I need some help over here. They've got Pietro and I think they have Emma, too. They—**

My words stop abruptly as the sounds of a fight ensuing just beyond the taxi capture my immediate attention. Gun shots fill the air as do screaming and shouting and, for a moment, I think that the others have already arrived and are fighting the MRD right now. But upon listening further to the sounds of the fight, I realize...that something...doesn't quite…sound right. It almost sounds like people are—

Dying.

I peer over the hood of the cab but instead of finding Logan or Hank or Storm coming to my aid, I find—

_Him._

I watch in numb disbelief as the man from the mall slashes at the officers with quick graceful movements, cutting them down with stunning ease, and it doesn't take me long to figure out how. In his hands, he wields a pair of double-edged blades with wicked curves and long, rigged handles; his arms moving as if the blades were mere extensions of his being—like Logan's claws.

In one move, he dispatches two soldiers at once, slicing through them like I slice through a loaf of bread. I feel myself grow sick at the thought. _Chop, chop, chop…_

Unable to move, I crouch paralyzed behind the cab, just watching the man cut down MRD after MRD, his dark hair falling in his face as he glides around them in a strange dance of death. He turns a quarter to the right, intending to impale another officer, and I'm able to see his face full on. What I see chills me more so than the ice biting into my knee on the cold ground. His eyes are twinkling, a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth...

_He's enjoying this._

In a few seconds, it's over, and the man straightens from his previous stance, sheathing his blades behind his back in one clean motion, and smoothes out his disheveled hair with one hand before turning to face me and I'm able to see his eyes more clearly now. I inhale sharply. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest as though an invisible hand has reached right into my chest and wrapped around my frantically beating heart.

His eyes are pale blue.

Like ice.

Like _His._

I duck back down behind the cab, my back against its metal frame, and squeeze my eyes shut with my hands jammed in my hair. _This can't be happening_. It was just an illusion. A figment of my imagination that I thought up because I was lonely and scared and—

And this just can't be real. Azazel's in Russia. And even if he wasn't, he would have come to see me by now—as himself…wouldn't he? Then again—

I didn't go to see him either.

I jump when a loud, Bamfing sound pierces me ears and I let out a yelp, clapping my hands over my mouth as he stands over me, watching me with a look far too passive for someone who just wiped out ten guys without the slightest hesitation and a smile on his face.

Azazel wasn't like that.

Was he?

"You are unhurt?" Is the man's question and I flinch at the sound of his voice. I _know_ that voice. I _know_ this man. There's no doubt about it. And sure enough, when he extends a hand down to me, I catch sight of a watch-like device sitting delicately on his olive-skinned wrist (not unlike the kind Hank wore tonight). I don't want to do it, but some sick sort of curiosity drives me to make my next move. I take his hand in one of mine but before he can pull me up, I unclasp the watch and tear it from his wrist with the sharp jerk of my hand.

I gasp, fall back and hit the cab with a dull thud, "It_ is_ you!" I whisper, a hand covering my gaping mouth while the other grips the watch in a white-knuckled vice.

I'm _not _crazy! It_ is_ him!

The moment I took off the watch, the man's skin turned a deep shade of crimson and a tail seemed to sprout right out of the frozen air, curling behind him with that wickedly sharp spade. I study his face, eyes wide and inspecting. A scar travels down the length of his eyebrow and through his eye. His lips curve just the way I remember. Those cheek bones, that structure...There's no mistaking it.

It's Azazel.

My shock turns to elation so fast it makes my head spin, and in a second I'm back on my feet and moving towards him. Ignoring the bodies that now litter the pavement (as well as the sirens wailing in the distance), I throw my arms around him and press my forehead into his shoulder, next to his heart which beats as calmly as if he had just woken from a deep sleep. I'm shaking and each breath I take is a shudder of pain that racks my entire body.

"I thought I'd never see you again." I look up at him, not even realizing that he never returned my embrace as I start to say through glistening eyes, "When Mystique said you were in Russia, I wanted to find you so badly but I—"

My words hitch in my throat as I meet his eye. His stare is cold and distant and…questioning.

Puzzled and, frankly, hurt by his reaction (or lack thereof), I step away; my own eyes search his frantically for some explanation. But none comes. "Azazel?" I ask but my voice comes out as a choked whisper when he begins to advance on me, slowly; quietly. I move back, unable to do anything else for my horror. The odd light of the deserted square casts eerie shadows over him, making his gaze look nothing less than malicious.

He slows all the more as he gets within touching distance of me and I'm in no way prepared for his monotonous reply, nor for the blade that sudden appears at my throat as he shoves me against the cab door, asking in a dangerously low voice, "Who are you?"

Trapped between the door of the cab and the blade pressing lightly against my neck, just above the inhibitor collar, I can only stare at him, my eyes crinkling in dismay and lips trembling as I whimper, "It's me." I gasp slightly as he leans in closer, tilting the blade to graze my jaw just so. His shadowed eyes, made so by the dim street lights, bore into mine; scrutinizing and so…

_Cold._

"Elizabeth." I clarify, ignoring the twist in my gut at his nearness and the heat that radiates off of him like a furnace in spite of the cold weather. I would give almost anything right now to grab him and hold him and kiss him and pretend everything is okay. And pretend that he isn't breaking my heart. "Elizabeth Hawthorne. I—we…we were together once—" I stop, suddenly disgusted at having to explain all of this. Disgusted by the frailty of my voice and the way my legs are shaking beneath his gaze. Disgusted and angry and hurt, so hurt. "But you know that!" I add furiously, moving forward a bit, only to be forced back against the cab as that tail that I'd grown to love so long ago whips around dangerously behind him; a warning.

I've experienced the deadly power of that tail alone, but at the moment I'd rather relive that pain all over again than withstand another second of this one, "What's the _matter _with you?" I whisper as his frame presses harder against me, pinning me back. "Why are you acting like this? Please just…just _tell _me."

A thought crosses my mind in lieu of Azazel's silence. "It's because of Logan, isn't it?"

No, the slight narrow of his eyes and tilt to his head tells me_ that,_ most definitely, is not it.

"Say something!" I whimper—a pathetic sound—unable to take his silence any longer. But before I can make a complete mess of myself (any more than I already have), Azazel breaks his silence, "You say we were together," He says in his low, Russian accent, which I can't help but notice has gotten much stronger—probably due to his travels back in his home land. "How did this happen?"

"You don't—remember?" I ask uncertainly. Seventeen years is a long time but this is a bit extreme. Even Erik remembered me after a moment of brief confusion, but I like to think Azazel and I knew each other better than Erik did. "Or maybe you're just fucking with me, right?" I snap, growing livid at the thought. I need to know what's going on here. I'm tired of bouncing back and forth between desperation and anger. I just want to know the truth.

He raises his eyebrows and a smirk curls his lips as he says in an undertone, "You are angry."

I shrink back as he dips his head forward, tilting his head to the side so his mouth just brushes against my jaw. His breath scrawls down my neck and I inadvertently crane my neck back in an attempt to give us some distance, but it only makes things that much worse because now his mouth is at my neck, breathing me in, "You are…upset with me, _Da?"_

"Stop..." Is all I can say in a voice barely above a whisper as his lips graze my throat. I can hardly breathe, my stomach dances in the pit of my gut and my head and limbs feel numb, like I've been sucked into a vacuum and am slowly losing air. I feel light headed.

If it weren't for the collar, I could simply phase away. Problem solved. But the truth is…

I don't want to. I can't force myself away from him. I've desired such closeness in the past and still do. And for a moment, in spite of my will that never allows me to be subjected to such vulnerability; despite my shame in doing so, I allow myself to be too weak to get away from him.

He speaks what I am too ashamed to admit, "You do not want me to."

My knees wobble beneath me as he turns his head to face me directly, his breath like puffs of air that kiss my lips, light as feathers. "Please…" I breathe, eyes closing against their will, but I'm not sure exactly what it is I'm pleading with him to do: Get the hell away from me…or—

"_Heeeeelllooooo?!"_ A nasally voice calls out across the square, his high pitched voice echoing through the deserted streets. "Anybody _alive_ out there? I'm freezing my nuts off out here!"

Pietro.

I snap out of my daze and—ignoring the blade, thicker than my ring finger, at my throat—push away from the red mutant before me. And, to my minor astonishment, he lets me by; stepping back and taking with him that damned body heat of his; A blast of cold air chills me in his absence.

I waste no time in hurry to Pietro's side, grateful for his obnoxious interjection (and for the excuse for my brain to concentrate on the physical exertion of freeing him rather than the boiling desire welling up inside my chest) and I kneel down beside the squirming teenager, taking the netting in my hands. There's a hole in it from where I'd been cutting it; large enough for an arm to slip through and nothing more.

I curse when I realize I don't have the switch blade on me. I look around wildly, my mind honing in completely on the task at hand in something I think is called Tunnel Vision, and almost scream when I find Azazel, leaning casually against the MRD van, half-shrouded in the dark. I thought he was an MRD officer; though, at the moment, I'm not sure which one would be worse.

I glare at him and he surveys me. His silence speaks volumes. He knows I can't free Pietro. And he knows that _I know _that _he _can. But rather than beg him to help me, like I know he wants, I just say, "Help us or leave. Otherwise I have no use for you."

Not sure where that came from but it sounded good, and after a long enough pause to make my cheeks burn with fury, Azazel waltzes over, unsheathing his blade with a drawn-out _Shhhhhhhhtk! _Pietro's pale grey eyes widen in fear; understandable seeing as the Mutant doesn't exactly look very friendly. Not to mention the fact that Pietro probably saw Azazel strike down those humans not minutes ago as well as our own little altercation.

And what with none of us being on friendly terms with one another…

"Be careful," I say tensely, keeping a close eye on the Mutant as he lowers his blade methodically towards the ropes. He glances up, meeting my eye and he holds my gaze as he slips the knife in through one of the holes, bunching up more of the cords in his hand and with a sharp flourish severs the entire bundle. His eyes never leave mine.

Breathing in quick, frantic breaths, Pietro scrambles out of the netting and backs up from us as Azazel straightens up and glares down at the boy in a frightening stare. I get to my feet as well and ask in a more kindly voice than I'd used with the boy before, "Are you alright?"

"What's it to _you_?" Is Pietro's stubborn reply, but he quickly cowers back when Azazel's stare intensifies with the slightest shift of his features. I myself have to resist a shiver under its power, as well as a smirk at the look on Pietro's face. It's about time someone scared some sense into that little cretin. I just wish it had been me.

"Listen, I just wanna get out of here, alright? Now," Pietro backtracks and grabs at the collar with both hands, yanking on it furiously. "Get this thing off me...Please."

My hand goes, ponderously, to my own collar.

Ignoring the tall, red elephant in the alley, I go to the now vacated MRD van and quickly climb inside. The only way that I know of to get off the collars is to tear them apart with superhuman strength. But that's probably one of the more brutish ways of doing it and there must be a key somewhere that unlocks them. The trick is just finding it…

"Get out." I say when the van shifts, alerting me that someone else has entered the vehicle. I don't care if it's Pietro or Azazel. I just want to be alone while I sort this out.

"Two make for better searching." Is his reply. I don't have to look to know it's Azazel.

"Well isn't that nice?" I mutter, kneeling in the van by an impressive looking trunk. I look around for a way to open it, sliding my fingers along its edge but I know it needs a key to be opened. Maybe if I—

I give a start when I find Him kneeling down just behind me—practically on top of me— leaning over my shoulder to study the box. With a slight groan of annoyance, I move over and he casually turns his head to give me a smug, sidelong glance before withdrawing a dagger (much smaller than the ones he previously used) from a holster somewhere in his jacket. I watch, feigning disinterest, as he jams the dagger in the lock and pries open the box with a sharp twist.

I shake my head as we peer inside. There are all kinds of strange devices inside but none of them look like something that could unlock the collars. "Alright, " I breathe, standing up (as the roof of this van is much higher than the one I'd previously encountered) but my eyes never leave the box as I continue to say, "Maybe we should just wait for the others to get here. Logan should be able to break the collars and then we'll—"

I stop abruptly, realizing I'd been referring to _us_ as though we're…as though "we" _means_ anything anymore and Azazel meets my eye with a steady gaze. I find myself unable to break away as I grapple with a mixed cocktail of spiraling emotions. It's him, but it isn't. But it is. How can that be?

His face is unreadable and he hardly acknowledges me when I delicately bring my hand up to his face as a deep regret washes over me.

"Why?" I ask softly, the tips of my fingers barely touching his cheek. How could he do this to me? "Why did you come back?"

Quick as lightning, his hand snatches me by the wrist and lowers my arm down to my side while simultaneously taking a step forward, closing the distance between us. And—by way of answering me, I suppose—he takes hold of my other arm, just above the elbow, and slowly leans in towards me, the heat radiating from him enveloping me in a blanket of security.

I feel my eyes flutter closed and for a moment let myself _**pretend **_as his lips nearly meet mine—

Then suddenly, I'm met with cold air—where it had been warm before—and I open my eyes just as Azazel falls to the floor of the van with a loud thump; his body limp and his eyes closed. But before I can have an aneurism or epic proportions, I look up to see Emma standing in the door way of the van, her eyes wide and grave, her nose askew, and her bloody, shaking hand outstretched.

_She attacked him,_ I realize with a start.

"Jesus, Emma! What was...?!" I begin to shout but my words are drowned out when Logan runs up behind her along with Angel and Storm who touchdown silently behind them. They all look roughed up, bruised, and wary, but that's nothing compared to their faces when they see Azazel.

"Is that…?" Angel starts to ask, peering around the frame of the van.

"Uh-huh," Hank mumbles numbly.

"Then why is he…?"

All eyes turn to Emma and it doesn't take long for them to figure out what happened.

"What the hell is going on, Emma?" Angel asks, pressing forward to help get the unconscious mutant out of the van. I don't move to help him, or Hank, as they carefully remove him from the van and set him down in the snow. Tabitha, Dimitri and Rogue (I notice) are not among them.

Emma turns toward them all, swaying on her feet. She looks like she's about to say something and then she too passes out; though probably from the blood loss (due to her broken nose) rather than a psychic attack.

But before she can fall, Logan snaps out of it, having been staring at me with incisive eyes this entire time, and catches her before she can hit the pavement. My own senses return to me and I find myself growing irritated that he caught her. But why should I feel that way? I'd have done the same if I was close enough. Why do I feel so irritable all of a sudden?!

What's wrong with me?

I storm out of the van, tugging at the collar, asking, "Anybody wanna help me get this off?"

"Here," Hank says, stepping forward with a tiny, odd-looking key in his hand; it glows a neon green in his big, furry hand. "Emma read one of the MRD's minds and found this."

The collar releases its hold around my neck as Hank inserts the key in a slot at its front, and I take the collar in my hands, surveying it a moment. Then I promptly turn around, stride over to Azazel's still frame, gently sweeping his black hair (which has grown out somewhat since last I saw him) from his face…

And clasp the collar around his throat.

* * *

_**Big things to come! Don't wait up! Chapter 20 should be coming within the hour, I believe...Thank you! **_

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	20. Chapter 20 Roles Reversed

_**DISCLAIMER: X-MEN=DO NOT OWN! Thank you and Enjoy ;D**_

Chapter 20: Roles Reversed

"What are you doing?" Is Logan's sharp protest. I'm a little surprised that he's the first one to speak up. I'd have thought with his intuition he'd back me up on this one. "What does it look like?" Is my frustrated retort as I straighten, my hands rubbing at my stiff arms. It's too cold out here and it's dark. It's time to leave. Now.

"I thought you were—" Storm begins to chime in just as Rogue, Tabitha and Dimitri pull up in the car. The others had sent them to go get the large car from where we parked it in case we needed to make a quick escape, which is becoming more and more evident as civilians begin to wander curiously back into the square. Sirens can be heard off in the distance but they most likely are holding back incase there is still danger.

"We were." I cut Storm off too harshly as Tabitha and Dimitri stop to stare down at the red man in the snow before them. Their eyes are uncomprehending. But then again, they were only children when they first met Azazel and even then they only saw him once, I think. "But not anymore." I glance down at his motionless form, ignoring the twist in my gut and cross my arms uncomfortably as I say, "We can't trust him."

"Damn it all, this is Azazel we're talking about!" Wolverine shouts at me, stepping forward to yell in my face and I straighten, squaring my jaw in defense of myself. "I knew him after you were gone. I'd trust him with my life."

"Then I guess it's a good thing you've got plenty of those because _that_—" I point viciously at the red mutant, spiting fire as I shout, "Isn't Azazel!"

This pulls them all up short, but none more so than Logan, "How do you…how do you know?"

"Believe me," I breathe, relieved to be free from the verbal attack for the moment. "I know. And so did Emma before she blacked out."

That's why she attacked him. She knew something was wrong even if she couldn't completely put her finger on it. "This may look like—like our Azazel, but it is not. I don't know who he is but he's dangerous. He can't be trusted."

The group seems to be weighing our odds for a while, and eventually, _someone_ comes up with a plan of action, "We're taking him to the mansion."

My eyes flit to Logan, outraged at the notion, and I ask him loudly, "Are you insane? You want to bring this—imposter to the mansion?"

"We don't know if it's an imposter, Elizabeth." Hank interjects gently. "If he was a shape shifter the collar would have forced him to revert him back to his natural form. It may very well be Azazel. Just…not as you once knew him."

I contemplate this for about a second but for some reason I feel so agitated, so ill-at-ease, so paranoid towards the idea of bringing Azazel to the mansion that I almost erupt into another bought of objections when Hank adds in an even softer voice, "He might need our help. We should take him with us…It's what Charles would have wanted."

My head snaps up at what that sentence entails and I regard Hank with wide eyes, "Where is he?"

"We…" Hank sighs tiredly. "Don't know. We suspect that he may have been—" His words hitch in his throat but he swallows the lump of sorrow in his throat. "Captured by the MRD, but at the moment…it's uncertain."

My brows crease and suddenly an intense hatred overwhelms me, flushing my face and sending a shiver sliding down the length of my spine and into my fingers and toes. It's the second time I find myself hating humans. And it's certainly not the first time that I refer to non-mutants as _Humans_ when I've always firmly believed that—deep down—we're all human.

And for the millionth time since I first discovered I was a Mutant I wonder…

What the hell is wrong with me?

* * *

When Azazel finally comes around, I'm waiting for him.

I find myself relishing in his momentary confusion as he adjusts to his surroundings (which, in this case, is a clear cell made of thick plastic and fiber glass). He groans, sitting up groggily into a kneeling position, then he lifts his head and—after a brief, brief moment of surprise—his composure returns to him; his face adopting a haughtily placid air as he runs a hand through his hair. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as if _I'm_ the one behind bars; not him.

"The others think you've lost your memory," I break the silence, my voice flat and emotionless—like I practiced in my head. Then I calmly move a chair in front of the glass, taking a seat as I add, "I think you're full of shit." I shouldn't even be here, to be quite honest. But I couldn't resist. I had to see him. To remind myself that what I saw earlier, what I touched was real.

He tilts his head, tail curling behind him, but doesn't reply.

I chew on my lip, waiting for some sort of response, but when I receive none, I grow antsy and get up; start pacing. "Seventeen years." I state. "That's a long time, is it not? Though not so long as to make a man forget what you and I and most everyone else in this mansion went through back on that Island. How, I wonder, could someone forget something like that?"

I cease my pacing to look at him, only to see him now lounging against the wall of the cell, looking cool as ever with on knee propped up, his arm resting lazily upon it. His mouth remains stubbornly closed in that same mocking smirk. I want to punch him in the face. But instead I just shake my head and sit back down, knitting my fingers together with my elbows on my knees.

I decide to switch tactics, "You haven't changed much." I remark, studying his features closely. Even Mystique has aged somewhat since I last saw her seventeen years ago, but only enough to enhance her womanly features. But a change nonetheless. Azazel hasn't changed a bit, save for his longer hair and homicidal tendencies.

This time, he graces me with a reply. "I don't usually."

I always_ was_ into older men…

His next remark hits me harder than I expect it to. "It would seem you did not know me as well as you claim."

My mouth hangs open in outrage, but I can't object to that because—

Well, because it's true.

Our romance sprung from a mutual attraction to one another; a physical attraction that lead to something deeper. Brought on by the traumatic events we both suffered at William Stryker's hands. But even then, our time together was so limited I don't think he even knows my middle name (which is Sami, by the way). But I guess it would have been rather difficult to ask him what his favorite color was as we were fighting for our lives. Or when I was slapping him. Or kissing him…

"People don't risk their lives for one another on a mere whim." I reply, fighting to keep down my anger, which threatens to boil over at any second. "They risk their lives for one another because they _care_ enough to. Which you did." I think back to all the times he's quote unquote "saved" me; some of them being the real deal (like back on the island) while some of them are mostly him saving me from myself (like when I fell through the roof in Magneto's mansion). "Deny it all you like but you did feel something for me."

"Now tell me the truth." I say after a pause. "Did you really lose your memory?"

"…" Silence.

"Just—" I start to shout, but catch myself, and settle for a more subdued, "Please…tell me. If you did, then we can help you get those memories back." His smirk fades and I find myself having to get to my feet as his eyes lock on mine; so intense. As I step up to the glass, I weigh my next words carefully before saying, "I—I want to help you."

Azazel takes a long drawn our breath as he climbs to his feet and moves towards the glass, where I now stand. "I do not want your help." He says in a low voice, emphasizing each word articulately. "I want to know why I see you though you are not there. I want you gone from my mind forever. I want to lie down in my bed tonight—" His fatal smirk returns with a vengeance and he places his hands on the glass, leering down at me as he adds, "With you beside me."

I don't know what it is, but I snap, phasing through the glass, eyes glowing furiously as I attack him. There was a time where a full sentence (spoken in perfect English) like that would have disarmed me in a millisecond. But not now. Not when he's hurt me like this. Not when he can stand there and mock me like everything we've gone through together has meant nothing to him.

I shove him against the wall, projecting two small energy shields from my hands to give me the strength to do so, as I cry out, "Do you have any idea how much I cared about you?!" As I stride towards him, I draw back a glowing fist (completely discarding everything Rogue taught me yesterday) and try to land one right on his jaw—

Only I don't account for that accursed tail of his and it whips around my elbow, roughly yanking my arm back, and soon enough we're grappling for control, his hands reaching for me and mine pushing him away. Trying to recall what Rogue showed me about holds, I try to get him into one she called the "Pig in a blanket" (Yeah, I don't know…), but in a counter move that I can't even begin to understand, Azazel turns the move on me and sends me backward against the wall.

I hit the glass pretty hard, but I recover quickly and make to lunge at him with a right hook.

Then that god damned tail strikes out of nowhere and, this time, encircles both of my wrists like a rope made of flesh and blood, rendering my hands inert. Trapped between him and the wall, I attempt to kick out at him, but with both hands being free, he catches the blow and presses against me. Unable to kick out with my legs, I fight to free my own hands, and, in response to this, Azazel's hold on them tightens like a coil, and he raises my arms high above my head, held in place by that surprisingly strong tail.

I could always head-butt him…

As if sensing that this might be my next move, his hand goes to my jaw and holds my head firmly against the glass as he leans in close. "I want to know," He mutters and I meet his eye (having previously been trying to search for any possible way to escape) to find that his look is no longer mocking or daunting, but refreshingly sincere. His pale eyes are unwavering as he says in a deep undertone, "But I don't want to remember."

"_Why not?" _Is all I can whisper, that familiar spell paralyzing me—keeping me from phasing away like I know I should. But I have to know…

He, predictably, doesn't answer. But a muscle works in his jaw, his breathing is no longer calm and steady but somewhat labored; his chest expands against my own, and thin lines crease around his eyes. Maybe_ he_ doesn't know either. Or maybe he just doesn't want to tell me.

I give up.

Phasing out of his grip and right through the glass, I can breathe at last. He straightens, straightens out the front of his crisp, black suit, but he does not assume that haughty look of his. Instead he just watches me, watching him. I don't know what to do so I just blink and say breathlessly, "Let me know when you figure it out."

And then I leave without so much as a glance behind me.

* * *

Our next plan of action, obviously, is to find the Professor.

We decide that we should leave as soon as possible, the sheer gravity of the situation hitting us all hard as we realize what Xavier's kidnapping could very well mean for all Mutants. If the MRD were to start messing around with Xavier's head, it could spell trouble for everyone in the entire tri-state area. Not just us. And under the cover of nightfall, we should be able to make a clean getaway; as it's already well past midnight.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Scott asks, ready for a fight. You wouldn't even know it was 12 in the morning by the way we're so hyped up. "Let's go already."

"What have I been tellin' you, Summers?" Logan replies, his arms crossed stonily but even he's revving to go. "We need a plan of action first."

"Wolverine's right," Hank agrees, his hand under his jaw as he sits at the large motherboard across the hall from the Danger Room, searching for the blueprints of the MRD's headquarters/jail house. How he's getting access to all of these government files, I don't know. I guess it comes with being a genius. "And—" He sighs, turning away from the enormous computer; removes his glasses. "I think we can all agree we're going to need a little help on this one."

He avoids my gaze and I narrow my eyes as he and Wolverine exchange significant glances. It's like they're having an entire conversation with just that look. Strange, seeing as neither of them are telepaths. But Emma most certainly is, " 'They mean for Azazel to help us.' " She says telepathically, her musical voice floating in the space around my head like a wisp sound.

"What?!" I cry out loud. The others look at me; some nervously, others in confusion. "You can't be serious about Azazel." I clarify and Hank looks away while Rogue, Tabitha and Dimitri exchange uncertain glances. I can tell they don't quite know what to think about Azazel; the rest of our group seems to trust him well enough, and I don't trust him at all.

Not a good mix.

"I think Dr. McCoy may have a point, Elizabeth." Emma tells me firmly, absently fingering the bandage on the bridge of her nose, where it had to be reset. "The MRD is heavily fortified and Human technology against Mutants (as you very well know) has advanced far beyond what you or I have encountered in the past. We need all the help we can get. Teleportation would be the safest way to get in and out without unnecessary risk."

I debate on whether or not to ask my next question, but eventually decide it's worth a shot, "What about Erik?"

The looks I get in response alone are enough to tell me there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of that happening. "You'd trust Magneto before—"

"Yes, I would." I snap before Logan can get out his disgruntled reply. "But…" I sigh, knowing I can't win this one. "You may be right. If we're going to get the Professor out," I cast a nervous glance down the hall, where Azazel's cell is. "We'll need all the help we can get."

I really don't want to do this. He won't agree to it, I convince myself. There's no way he'll agree to helping us. Why should he? We won't set him free after, anyway, right?

I give a shudder at the thought, realizing suddenly that this very well may be the case. What if the others do want to set him free; let him live here? I don't think I could stand it. I still care about him. About who he was at least. But this…new Azazel…

He worries me. He upsets me.

I don't want to have to look at his face and know that it isn't really him.

_It's not going to happen,_ I think to myself as we make our way down to the holding cell._ He won't agree to this. He's not that person anymore. And you don't love him._

_And he doesn't love you._

* * *

**_What'd I tell ya? Anyway, more chapters to come...Later. Still working out the kinks of what's to come but I like some of the ideas I've come up with and I hope you do too. Thanks for reading (as always)._**

**_~THESCRIBE! _**


	21. Chapter 21 Taking the Battle to Them

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING BUT MY WORDS AND SUCH...Thanks and Enjoy;D**

Chapter 21: Taking the Battle to Them

The bastard stares—just _stares_ at us.

He won't reply. He won't agree to anything—damn it, he won't even fucking say "No." He just sits there and just fucking stares at us like he's deaf or something. I'm so close to phasing in there and blowing his ass up—

But I don't. I won't.

I'm just going to sit here and I'm going to wait patiently until it's my time to say, "I fucking told you so!" And laugh as we leave to whoop some MRD buttocks. Alas, that time has yet to come.

"Azazel, listen to us," Emma begs, her voice sounding stuffy and painful from her nose injury. "We can help you. But we need you to help us first. We will give you all the answers you need. I swear it."

Still, he doesn't answer, but when his disinterested gaze turns to me and sharpens, and, with that look alone, I understand. I stand up abruptly, my eyes narrow and my hands bawled. "Forget it." I say aloud. "He's _not _going to do it. We're wasting our time."

I start to walk away, disregarding everyone else in the room, when his voice rings out, calling clearly despite the fact that he hardly raises his voice at all, "_Perhaps_, if you ask nicely," He says leisurely, savoring each word as if he can taste the anger it's causing me, as I stop in my tracks. But I don't turn around. Instead, I inhale deeply, trying to force down my rage as I grit my teeth and clench my hands into fists. "I will consider it."

"We've been askin' nicely—" Rogue starts to object; frustrated, but I interject quietly, saying, "He means me."

I turn around and walk back to the cell, moving past Emma and Wolverine and Dimitri to say in a voice softened by the wrath seeping out of my very soul, "Listen, you can either help us and get out of this cell as well as that collar…or we can leave you here. It's your choice really. But if something should happen to us…well, I wonder what would become of you? No one knows about this facility and you'll be dead long before anyone _does _discover it. Now, I'm asking nicely," I add through clenched teeth. "For you to help us…Please."

I hiss the word with such malice that, for a second, I think he will decline.

He nods his head once, saying, "I will help you."

I'm rendered dumb with the sheer injustice of it all and I can only watch as Hank moves over to the door and unlocks it; punching in a number code with far too many numbers for anyone to memorize at a glance.

Azazel steps back as the door slides open, but when Hank steps forward, with the glowing key in hand, he swiftly avoids him. Again, his eyes find mine, "She will do it."

I silently step forward; snatch the key out of Hanks' hand and enter the cell. "Live it up while you can," I say as quickly unlock the collar and tearing—and none too gently—from his throat. "Because the second you step out of line, you'll be right back here. And no one will be coming to get you out."

His hands wrap around mine, which are currently grasping the collar, and I recoil as his long fingers dig into my skin. He looks me dead in the eye, says something in Russian, and then he let's go of my hands, and steps out of the cell, leaving me standing there like an idiot as he pockets something circular in the lapels of his jacket: the collar.

I look down, my hands still cupped, to see that they no longer contain the collar.

_How did he do that? _I wonder as I lower my hands and glare after him indignantly. Azazel looks at us all expectantly, as if to say, "Well, are we going or what?"

Logan's answer to that is rough as he eyes the red mutant challengingly, "Let's move."

* * *

My skin is positively crawling. I can't _stand_ the idea of this little team up. It's like Sabretooth all over again; complete with Dimitri and Tabitha (albeit they are much older than before). And what's worse: Emma isn't here.

Logan left her in charge of Cerebro, deciding it would be best to have a telepath to cover us in case something does happen (so much for my previous threat). Hank too stayed behind to feed us intel about where the main holding cells are (as he has the blueprints), and Dimitri was…volunteered to stay behind with her. No one wants to admit it but…Dimitri's abilities aren't, well, they aren't very…_useful_ per say. They're powerful; there's no doubting that. He can generate heat so intense that (given time and a constant effort) he can melt straight through solid steel. But in this situation, there wouldn't be much that he can do what with the goal being to get in and get out as quickly and quietly as possible.

As for Angel, he was given a much different task.

Being the son of Worthington II, who has special access to the MRD's main facilities thanks to his connections to Senator Kelly, Warren too has access to the facility and can act as an inside man and perhaps provide as a distraction should something go wrong.

The rest of us have taken to the air.

It's…uncomfortably silent; with everyone psyching themselves up for the mission ahead. Rogue and Scott mumble amongst each other—probably about Azazel being Nighcrawler's biological father (yeah, shocker…)—as Wolverine and Storm fly the Blackbird towards its destination, and Tabitha and I sit opposite one another, quietly. I keep going over the game plan in my head, casting nervous glances at the back of Azazel's head, but he merely looks out the window, oblivious to the rest of our nerves.

I too gaze out the window, now as I recall Phase 1: Infiltrate the facility as discretely as possible.

And just how do we intend to sneak in? With Teleportation, of course! Unfortunately, Bamfing into a highly guarded facility built to keep Mutants is easier said than done and it would undoubtedly attract some unwanted attention.

That's where I come in.

Invisibility and force fields really come in handy at a time like this. I'll be able to ensure that we're not seen or harmed and we should be able to phase through cell to cell to find the Professor. The obvious issue with that, however, is that—again—I don't entirely trust Azazel. In fact, I don't trust him at all. And the best part…

Tabitha and Rogue are coming with us.

Rogue will be able to disarm anyone who comes our way or presents a threat without causing too much of a ruckus (like Wolverine, Storm, or Cyclops might have) and she'll be able to tell if there are any traps that could lie in wait once we're inside.

Phase 2: Find the Professor, grab him, and teleport back to the Blackbird, which will be waiting in the skies, shrouded by one of Storm's clouds, for our return. Then we'll book it back to the Mansion, lock Azazel up (I'm determined to see that through), and get some sleep. Sounds like a good plan.

I just don't like the idea of putting our lives in Azazel's hands.

If he flakes out on us, we're on our own. All he'd need to do is reveal us in some way or ditch us the second the going gets tough and we'll be left with Plan B: Make a break for it while Storm, Scott and Wolverine come in as back up. Tabitha will be able to fly us out while Rogue and the others get the Professor out and I'll provide us with some cover during the ensuing battle.

And if that should happen, things will get very messy, very quickly and I don't think anyone wants that. Especially not with Mutants already walking on thin ice as it is. If word got out that a group of Mutants openly attacked an MRD base, it would be war…

This is why I have trust issues.

"Get ready," Logan says as we draw close to an enormous sentinel with a curved, dome-like structure and a number of guard posts positioned all around the heavily manned area. All in all, however, it's not very big. If anything the facility is much smaller than Stryker's Island. Aside from the sky-scraper-like sentinel just beyond, the actual facility looks more like an office building that you'd see at some fancy law firm in Manhattan. Not a prison.

I stand up and so does Tabitha. Rogue moves to stand beside me, tugging at her collar. Azazel's already at the landing strip.

But before we go, Logan gets out of the pilot's seat and says, "Don't do anything too reckless. The goal is to—"

"Get in, get out." Rogue finishes for him and he smirks and puts a hand on her shoulder. Then he turns to me, tilts my chin up in the crook of his finger, "Take care of the old lady for me."

My fingers brush his hand and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, "This old lady can handle herself, thank you."

In a move that surprises not only Rogue and Tabitha, but me as well, Logan's lips meet mine for a brief moment before he pulls away saying, "We'll be right behind you if you need us." He steps back and in my peripheral vision I can see Azazel's keen eye watching me. His characteristic smirk is no longer on his face.

Brushing off the knot in my stomach, I take Rogue's gloved hand in mine, nodding to her once. She looks incredibly nervous, but luckily both she and Tabitha have already had experience with Bamfing; so we won't have to worry about them getting sick. Her face is set with determination.

"Ready?" I breathe taking hold of Tabitha's other hand. The girls both nod and I turn a wary eye to Azazel. But instead of taking hold of Rogue's other hand, his hand goes to my face, his thumb at my lips and he tosses a stunned Wolverine a nasty smirk before teleporting us away.

A second later, that familiar crushing sensation plunges us all into a darkness deeper than the blackest abyss, and then—as soon as we'd entered it—the darkness spits us out.

Rogue and Tabitha both breathe silent, sighs of relief while I swat Azazel's hand away, my eyes accusing but I don't dare speak aloud for fear of being spotted. Instead, I direct my attention to the vacated study into which we've Bamfed, turning in a wide circle as we take in our surroundings. For the moment, we can rest easy. And, for not having teleported in years, I, surprisingly, feel fine.

" 'Alright, Emma, Hank,' " I reach out to both of them mentally. " 'We're in.' "

A feel a mental link bond between the six of us as Emma tunes us in, (It's safer than communicators) and Hanks voice comes through clearly as he asks, " 'Can everyone hear me?' "

" 'Yes,' "

" 'Uh-huh.' "

" '…' "

" 'Just fine, Hank," Is my response to that. ' "Where do we go from here?' "

" 'Right now you're still in the upper levels of the facility—' " Hank explains.

" 'But the Professor is in the sublevels, deep within the sentinel." Emma's voice chimes in and we exchange glances as Hank continues from there. " 'You'll need to follow my directions exactly…' "

And we do.

We follow Hanks' directions deep into the facility, Tabitha's and my own hands growing sweaty as the feeling of being miles below the earth weighing in on us all. Rogue holds Tabitha's hand and I loosely hold onto Azazels upper arm as we inch our way down crowded hallways and empty rooms, which become more and more vacant the farther down we go.

Even Azazel appears to be in some sort of distress, with his tail occasionally making quick, jerky movements. I'm so transfixed by that tail, watching the way it curls and sways behind him, that I flinch and almost give an audible yelp when Azazel pulls up short in front of me, throwing a hand out to keep me from rounding the corner.

Moving his hand away from my abdomen, where he reached out to stop me, I cautiously peer around the corner to find—

Nothing. Just two men exiting a room not too far off. But we can bypass them easily. Like we've been doing this entire time.

" 'What is it?' " I ask him, but he only stares tensely ahead, his head craned to peer around the corner. " 'What's wrong?' " I try again. " 'You do know we're invisible, right?' "

" 'What's happening?' "Emma's voice tunes in. " 'Why aren't you moving?' "

" 'We must listen,' " Is his response, his hand going out to take my arm, which is entirely unnecessary since we've all already been touching in order to remain unseen. " 'Come.' "

We move silently and, as we draw closer, we are not only able to vaguely hear what is being said, but I am able to identify the two men.

" 'Kelly.' " Rogue and I think aloud at the same time.

I recognize the man to the left on the first as Colonel Trask, and with that recognition comes an intense wave of anger that flushes my cheeks and the back of my neck in a flash of white-hot rage. I want nothing more than to attack that bastard with all I've got—

I suddenly snap out of my thought when I realize there are eyes on me; Tabitha and Rogue stare at me in confusion and worry, and Azazel just—stares. They must have felt my anger through our psychic link.

Damn.

Blushing with embarrassment rather than anger, I pull us forward a bit with a disgruntled, " 'Let's get closer. I can't hear.' "

"…would seem you've disappointed me yet again, Trask." Senator Kelly is telling the Colonel (who seems to have acquired a new set of scars on his face from his altercation with Glenn) as they start to walk off, and we stealthily trail a ways behind so we can listen in on their conversation. "Perhaps I should appoint someone better suited to this task—"

"I've done exactly as you've asked, Sir." Is Trask's biting retort. His tough features and posture remain stony and composed as he keeps his pace a half-step behind Kelly, but his black eyes are blazing. "I alone have captured two of our biggest threats–"

"_And you alone have failed to deliver what I want." _Kelly responds coldly, effectively shutting up the mammoth-like Colonel seething beside him. "_Threats?_ A petty serial killer that you have _yet_ to control and a pacifist urging his own people to stand down? Charles Xavier rallies for peace and for that he is a fool. It is not _him_ that concerns me."

"Oh, but that _little girl _does." Even as he says it, Trask appears to regret it.

Kelly stops walking and we come to a staggering halt behind them, holding our breath for fear of being discovered. Kelly's eyes narrow and his thin lips form a straight line on his wide-set mouth. "My—apologies, sir." Trask says reluctantly. "But as you said, I fail to see why you want the girl and Magneto. The girl is of no use to us and the men were under the impression that Lehnsherr was on our side, Sir."

"On our side?" Kelly repeats, adjusting his glasses delicately on his nose. "That man is only a hair's breath away from launching his own attack against us. The sooner we take him down the sooner we can begin our conquest of those abominable Mutants." Kelly gives Trask a significant glance, the lights in the hall way sending a streak of light flashing across his glasses like a glint of madness as he says, "And the girl will be the one to do it."

Trask remains silent a moment, pondering this as the rest of my group and I exchange our own glances. We all know that he's talking about the Professor but we have no idea who he means by "the girl" or "the serial killer."

"You have some doubts?" Kelly asks smugly when Trask shifts on his feet. Kelly resumes walking, and Trask falls in step just behind him. We follow.

"Sir, isn't that why we have Xavier?" He asks as they come upon a two large, metal doors with windows on them. Above it states:

CAUTION: RESTRICTED WARD AHEAD

" 'Is that—?" Tabitha asks and Hanks voice confirms, " 'Yes.' "

It's the Mutant cell block. Where the Professor must be.

"Xavier serves another purpose entirely." Kelly says dismissively, stopping before the doors. Then, in a move that makes my heart stop, his eyes flick over to our group and his eyes lock on mine. But that's _impossible! We're invisible._ "As you will soon find out."

Rogue's finger tips dig into my shoulder and I tear my eyes from Kelly's towards the red Mutant still clutching my arm, " 'Azazel—' "

Before I can even get the thought out, we Bamf inside the ward.

And are immediately surrounded.

Men (and a very few women) wearing odd goggles have their weapons trained on us; red lasers dot our forms from all sides. Knowing the jig is up, we break away from one another—dropping the cloak of invisibility—as we prepare for a fight. My hands and eyes glow as I throw a force field around us. Rogue takes a stance beside me and Tabitha takes to the air, hovering just a foot or so off the ground within the purple dome of energy, and Azazel draws two long, curved blades in his hands. And for a tense moment, we wait for the first strike to come.

But nothing happens.

My heart pounds and my mind races and I'm tempted to suggest that we strike first when the sound of someone noisily clearing their throat catches our attention. I turn my head to see Trask and Kelly entering the room. Kelly wears a smirk so slight, one could make the argument that it isn't there at all and Trask eyes me so hatefully I can almost feel its heat.

"And here I was beginning to think you wouldn't show." Kelly addresses our group as though it's one entity, moving to stand before us as his soldiers make a small path, in case they need to defend him at a moment's notice. A number of the MRD's towards the front possess riot shields, but that won't do much against the four of us.

"If you really wanted to invite us over, you should have just asked." I speak up, realizing I'm probably the one most equipped to do the speaking. Tabitha is still as shy and quiet as she was when she was a child—except when she's yelling at me—and Rogue is too brash. Like Jubilee. I wonder where she is…

And Azazel…well, I wouldn't expect too much out of him at this point.

"Why you little—" Trask growls, stepping forward as if to attack the force field—the fool—but Kelly holds up a restraining hand, and Trask steps down. "Now, now," Says Kelly spreading his hands in a peaceful gesture. "Let us not stand unceremony here. I want to make a bargain with you."

"You _want_ to eliminate us," I retort, that familiar hate welling up inside me once again. My eyes blaze brighter as I say, "And I'll thank you not to _insult _us with your lies, as if we would be fool enough to believe them." My eyes narrow menacingly. "I _know _your type."

Azazel glances side-long at me, reading into the tone of my voice. Azazel knows this type as well, as Kelly reminds me all too well of one William Stryker; a man who likewise hated Mutants and wanted to use them for his own twisted purposes. Perhaps this will jog his memory.

"Hm, then you should know that a man such as myself would never bring a knife to a gun fight." Kelly replies smoothly, his words coming to him as if they had been pre-rehearsed. "As it were, I've acquired a valuable little bit of ammunition—" He raises a hand once more, beckoning. The formation shifts as a squad of MRD's enters the room carting someone in their grasp. "A bit of incentive, if you will."

Warren.

They've got Warren.

Our group tenses immediately and Rogue removes one of her gloves and starts forward with intent, but before I can move to stop her (and risk dropping our energy shield) Azazel's tail catches her around the waist and holds her at bay. I don't blame her for wanting to attack, but a move like that would be a death wish. And it would only put Warren in more danger, as he is bound by a length of wire thicker than my wrist, preventing him from flying out of harms' way. His mouth has been duck taped shut and he can hardly stand, the MRD's being the only think keeping him on his feet. It looks as if he had been beaten not too long ago.

"You can't do this!" Rogue thunders, but doesn't dare counteract Azazel's hold and he releases her once she resumes a more stationary stance. "He's Worthington's son."

"And you think that would stop me?" Kelly questions. "Not a very clever group, are you?"

"She's right, Kelly." I speak up, angered by the quip. "If you hurt him, you can pretty much kiss your alliance to Worthington and, more importantly, his_ funding_ goodbye. Now let him go and _then _we'll talk."

"You seem to be under the impression that you hold the cards, Ms. Hawthorne. But I can assure you, you are very wrong in that. Worthington may love his son in spite of his…affliction, (oh, yes, I know about that)," He adds with a mischievous glint in his eye. "But I am a very powerful man. And Worthington will not risk the sake of his status for a_ freak_, even if it is of his flesh and blood. Given time, he would learn to forget he'd ever had a son."

"…What do you want?" I ask, with no counter-argument for a horrid statement like that, but I don't relax for a second and neither does anyone else.

Kelly surveys me a moment, then his eyes flick up to the shield, scanning it over with his eyebrows raised. "As I said before, I want to negotiate. But I can't very well do that with your little force field in the way, can I?"

"I can hear you just fine." Is my tense reply, but I'm weighing our odds here. If we don't do as he says, he _will _hurt Angel; that is for certain. But if I do drop my shield we'll be over-whelmed. I look to Azazel, " 'What should we do?' " I ask, reaching out to him and the others through our bond only to find it's been severed. I can't hear or feel anything. I reach out for Emma or Hank but am—again—met with static. We've been cut off.

We're on our own.

Kelly scoffs at me, shaking his head. "Then I suppose I have no further use for this one." At Kelly's word, the MRD's containing Angel suddenly shove him to his knees and step back two paces before one draws a pistol-like gun and meets the back of Warren's head with its barrel.

"_Wait!"_

My cry is heard loudest above the others and I promptly drop my shield and let my hands fall to my sides. "You'd like a word?" I say breathlessly, stepping forward. "Then let's talk. You and me. Let the others leave with Warren and I'll stay."

"Liz—" Rogue starts to argue as Tabitha stares at me with wide eyes.

"You said you have no use for him," I state as Kelly purses his lips. "So let him go. Why waste the ammunition? And besides," I add as an afterthought, wanting desperately to get Tabitha and Rogue away from this awful place as a dreaded feeling of déjà vu strikes fear into my heart. If Tabitha were captured again…"It's not them you're after, is it?"

Kelly contemplates this another minute, though I already know he made up his mind long ago. "Fine," Kelly says to my relief and shock. "They have my leave to go."

"I'm not leaving," Tabitha speaks up for the first time, her voice wavering slightly. Her face is pale with fear and set with determination. "Not again."

"Neither am I." Rogue says but I know_ that's_ not happening.

And so does Azazel.

"You will take him," Azazel says, sheathing both of his blades and starting towards her. He takes hold of her forearm, the one with her ungloved hand, and holds it up, level with his face as he says, "You will leave this place and you will not return. Do you understand?"

Her mouth falls agape at what he suggests and her eyes flick to me uncertainly. I realize he means for her to absorb his powers. He means for her to escape with Angel.

He means to stay.

I nod in confirmation, asking, "You've had experience teleporting before, haven't you?"

She nods but starts to argue again. But before she has the chance, Azazel jerks her hand towards his face and her finger tips meet his cheek for a good seven—maybe ten—seconds before she pulls back, staggering with a look of horror as he sinks to the ground with a muffled groan.

My feet carry me to him and I kneel down before him, holding him up by the shoulders. He doesn't pass out but he looks damn near close to it and I meet his eye in our close proximity. He nods once, nearly imperceptibly, and I turn my gaze back to Rogue, who stands with her hand on Warrens' shoulder.

"Go," I tell her, then add as a sudden thought crosses my mind, "Go to our friend across the water. He'll know what to do."

And with that cryptic message, Rogue teleports away, leaving a frightened Tabitha, a weakened Azazel and myself to face the music on our own.

The MRD's press in the second they're gone but Kelly immediately halts them. "These are our guests," He states grandiosely as I pull Azazel to his feet. He's unsteady and leans on me in order to stay up, but he _should_ be fine soon enough…I hope. "And they will be treated as such. Although, as you know, I can't allow you to roam my facility while armed."

"That's something we can't agree to." I say immediately. "_As you know_."

"I'm afraid I must insist. Or would you rather I dispose of your dear Professor now and save myself the trouble of doing it later? I can always find another telepath to meet my needs. They're everywhere now-a-days." He adds maliciously and I'm about to argue again but Azazel catches my eye and nods once.

My eye brows knit; conflicted.

But we have our contingency plan, I remind myself. This is the only way to get back the Professor, the others will come for us, and, if Rogue understood my message (like I hope she did), then we'll have more help on the way soon enough.

Once the collars are secure around each of our throats, Kelly steps to the side, holding out his hand in beckoning, "Come. I'll take you to your Professor."

We start to step cautiously forward but freeze in a sudden anxiety when a loud crash, followed by the sounds of screams, reach our ears. I look to Kelly for explanation as he pales with some sort of understanding. His eyes find Trask's as the MRD's in the room begin to back away towards the exit, and he hisses at him, "Get that _animal_ under control, Trask."

Trask nods, looking like he'd rather jump off a cliff than go to face whatever is, apparently, slaughtering his men just beyond those double doors on the opposite side of the room, but he starts toward the doors regardless.

A thunderous roar from beyond the doors. A man goes sailing through them with a deafening crash and I just manage to pull Azazel out of the way before the man can plow us both over. His body slumps lifeless on the ground a mere foot away from where Azazel and I fell in our haste to get away. I look to Azazel, unhurt but dizzy from the power tap, and it isn't until I see Tabitha that I know something is very, very, very wrong.

Her already pale face is stark white. Her bright green eyes are wide, trained on the doors as they swing back and forth forebodingly. Her mouth hangs open as quick, frightened pants escape from her lips. She staggers backward with a sudden gasp of terror when another deafening roar is heard and she falls against the exit door, sliding to the floor as her body begins to tremor.

She's having a panic attack.

I dash over to her, leaving Azazel as he attempts to get his bearings, and I take her face in my hands as the banging and crashing and screaming and gunshots draw closer and closer and closer. Her eyes don't see me as I stare into them. "Tabitha! Tabitha, look at me. Look at me!" I repeat when she continues to stare at the door. She still won't meet my eye.

"Tabitha, please—" My words never reach her ears because soon mine are filled with the sounds of her piercing scream as the double doors burst open. I whip around, hands up; ready to kick the living shit out of whatever is causing her this distress—

Creeds' bloody face distorts in recognition as his farrel eyes lock on mine, "Frail."

* * *

**More chapters to come! And don't worry, we won't be here for very long like in the New Recruit. Until next time...**

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	22. Chapter 22 For Sport

**You know the drill: I don't own anything but my words and yadda yadda yadda and for those out there still reading in and reviewing thank you and keep doin' what you're doing. Thanks and Enjoy;D**

Chapter 22: For Sport

I don't have time to be shocked at Creed's appearance—though I shouldn't be too surprised, the man has a tendency for getting mixed up with humans—and I immediately brace myself for his attack. But I know for a fact that I can't face him alone. Not with this collar on, at least.

As Creed starts for me, his face grim with murderous intent as he takes long strides towards me, I say quickly to Kelly, "Take it off." My hand grasps the collar desperately as I back away from the oncoming Mutant. "Take it off or he will kill me."

A squad of MRD's attack the oncoming juggernaut, only to be swept aside like flies. Tabitha is hyperventilating and Azazel fights to get to his feet, only to stumble forward once more, his swords having been confiscated when the collar was placed around his throat.

"Kelly—" I manage to stagger backward, a good distance away from Tabitha, before Creed's monstrous hand closes around my throat and hoists me high into the air. He slams me back against the wall and my vision fades in and out from the force of the blow.

"This was a long time coming, frail." Creed rumbles, his voice thick with intense rage so severe it surprises me almost as much as his presence here does. I recall him not being particularly happy about being locked in a meat locker and then blasted down a water fall….but that was seventeen years ago and for someone like him (what with his bloody past and all), that shouldn't have been too traumatic, should it?

"Victor—" I somehow choke out but the pain in my throat becomes too much to bear. The pressure on my jugular not only restrains my breathing but strains my windpipe to the point of rupture. Black dots dance in front of my eyes and I feel like I'm breathing through a narrow straw.

The only thing that keeps Sabretooth from snapping my neck is the sound of Kelly's chuckle from behind him as he says, "I take it you two have met?"

At first, Creed doesn't answer. Then he turns to look over his shoulder at Kelly-and the fifty or so men who file into the room behind him, their guns trained on him (and me, as it were)—and he spits through gritted teeth, "This little_ bitch_ left me to die after I saved her _damned_ pups and helped her escape."

"So what?" Is Kelly's nonchalant reply. My face is reddening, pressure building behind my eyes as I gasp for air. I'm going to pass out. "From what my men tell me, you have remarkable regenerative abilities. You've no doubt died countless times before. What makes this time so different?"

Those words are probably the only thing that saves my life because Creeds' grip slackens on me as he shouts, "_Do you have an idea what it's like to drown?! _It isn't quick, I'll tell you that." His eyes find mine again and his hand tightens as he growls, "Especially not with a broken back in the middle of fucking nowhere."

He really is pissed. A memory of something Creed once says floats through my oxygen-deprived brain, " 'I don't much care for freezing. "

He had been willing to spend a night, cooped up with a bunch of frightened kids beneath the trap door of a cargo ship than face the cold of a Canadian winter. Why hadn't I seen that before? The meat locker…I recall the coldness of that water. How it bit into my skin; so cold that it burned…

I'm so going to die.

"Drop her," Kelly says. "And you will earn your freedom. Do not," The sound of fifty guns cocking at once fill the air; a sound even Creed can't ignore. "And we'll see how much you like the firing squad. She is expendable and as good as yours for all I care. But I'd like to question her first. Now, please," Kelly says at last as if he's asking for a lighter and not for a person's life to be spared. "Drop her."

The man is good.

As a politician should very well be, but this guy's way of manipulation, the way he can figure out an animal like Creed with the tiniest bit of information…Kelly is beyond persuasive and part of me (the part that isn't gasping and coughing uncontrollably on the ground) is beginning to think he may well be a Mutant and not yet know it. Wouldn't that be something?

Sabertooth steps away from me, every muscle in his body rigid with the desire to destroy me right here and now. But instead, he turns to Kelly, saying, "When will I—?"

The poor officer tasked with the duty to sedate Creed dies before the tranquilizer works its effects on Victor and he and his gun hit the ground with a chilling crack before Creed follows suit. He's out for the moment but it won't be long before he comes around—even with an elephant anesthetic.

A replacement MRD runs forward and, quick as a mouse, hurriedly snaps a collar around Creed's throat. And it's only then that I allow myself to relax—but only slightly. My breath comes in faint wheezes and my windpipe aches with a pain I've never before felt and I fear something might be broken. I can't speak. Not even to comfort a sobbing Tabitha as she huddles in a corner by the door.

Azazel has found his feet—along with some of his strength—and this time it's he that offers me a hand up. Even he appears shaken by what just happened but you wouldn't know it if you couldn't read the vaguely watchful look in his eye. He removes my hand from my throat to get a better look, but I wave him off, trying to speak but all that comes out is a squeak of protest.

"Where was I?" Kelly asks more to himself than anyone else as Creed and the debris of his destruction are silently carried away by more MRD's. "Oh yes," His smirk returns as he regards our tattered group. "Xavier." He begins to walk off, then stops; turns; gestures for us to follow. "Come now. It's late enough as it is. I'd hate to be late for my conference in the morning."

It takes more coaxing than I have the strength for but eventually Azazel and I (but mostly Azazel) drag Tabitha from the floor and lead her on after Kelly, who walks as a casual pace just ahead of us. We exit through the double doors and Tabitha recoils immediately, whimpering as we're faced with a red-soaked hallway of death, left in Sabretooth's wake.

You'd think a war had blown through here; not one man.

Kelly makes a face of displeasure, his nose crinkling with disgust, and he cautiously steps around the carnage, careful not to soil his polished shoes. "Would someone clean that up? We have people for that, don't we?"

If it weren't for Azazel, I don't know what I'd do.

Tabitha is fighting us every step of the way and, while I can speak now, each word of reassurance I try to offer her is raspy and filled with pain. It's only Azazel who manages to calm her with his own words. Only he's not speaking to her in English but rather Russian. I have no idea what he's saying but he speaks in a low voice, his words soothing and unrelenting as he steers her forward, often having to stop and grapple with her as she tries to run away.

There's little I can do here. But I know she needs to get out of here as soon as possible.

I quicken my pace to catch up to Kelly, but am pulled back by rough hands. Guns turn on me and our party halts. The MRD's around me (hyped by Creed's rampage) are about two seconds away from pummeling me into the ground when Kelly turns around and waves them off.

"Oh, get a grip, would you?" He shoos them off and begins to walk in step with me as the officers resume their positions. "You're men. Act like it."

"Senator Kelly," I whisper, my normal voice not quite functioning properly. "I am prepared to do whatever it takes to see that my friends are returned home safely. If you would just—"

"You want me to send her to your friends." He finishes for me, impatiently. "Yes, I know. In fact, I'm well aware that your friends are already here. They've already broken in to come rescue you. They will not succeed. Only you can ensure the survival of yourself and your peers."

"What do you mean?" I ask hesitantly, not liking where this is going.

"Your freedom in exchange for theirs." Kelly states simply. "Xavier stays with me and so do you. And the rest of your little band of misfits are free to leave."

"How do I know you won't double cross us like you did Creed?"

"Would you rather I let him go free?" Kelly asks incredulously.

"I just don't trust you." I counter and Kelly halts so abruptly that I continue on a few steps before even realizing he'd stopped. His words are cold and unfeeling as he orders his men to seize Tabitha and deposit her outside the facility for the X-Men to deal with.

I attempt to go to Tabitha as three MRD officers pry her away from Azazel and begin to drag her away; only to be dragged back myself by Trasks' restraining hand.

"And then there were two." Kelly says with satisfaction turning to Azazel and I. "Happy?"

No.

The smirk that pulls at Kelly's paper thin lips is nothing short of…disturbing, "Excellent."

* * *

My fist aches as it makes contact with the smooth surface of the prison cell but I can hardly feel it for my wrath. Azazel doesn't seem to realize he's been locked up just yet because he just leans against the wall, hands in his pockets, surveying the room as if this were an everyday occurrence for him. It angers me more and I pound my other fist on the glass, shouting, "You said you'd take us to the Professor!"

"Yes," Senator Kelly agrees with the nod of his head. "The best thing about being a politician is you don't always have to keep your promises. You've just got to sell the campaign. And you, my dear, _bought it._ Did you really think I would just_ take you_ to your Professor? After what you witnessed with that beast Sabretooth?"

The sound of a vault-like door opening reaches us from the hall and Kelly turns to look at something neither I nor Azazel can see. He turns back with a deadly smile, "Speak of the devil."

As they quickly, anxiously drag Creed's still form into our cell beside what looks like a tethering post (one out of four that make a square in the corners of the room), I feel a rush of fear course through me. When Creed wakes up there will be next to nothing to stop him from coming after me again. We'll be helpless.

Azazel (shockingly) is the first to voice these concerns, "You wish to keep her alive, Da?" He asks placidly, his voice as cool as Kelly's. "This man means to kill her. I cannot protect her unarmed."

"Don't try to favor me, Demon." Kelly spits. "He can have her for all I care. In fact, the first time I sent out a team to capture her, I was intending to give her to my sentinel project to test our new…equipment." He adds mysteriously. "But this seems much more…fitting, don't you think?"

"You—" My voice falters as the cell seals closed once more. "_You _sent them after me?! But you couldn't have known I was—"

"Oh, but it was written all over your face." Senator Kelly interrupts. "I could see the challenge in your eyes. You Mutants think you're so much better than the rest of us…It's time you learn that other Mutants are no longer your cause to worry. Humans are."

And with that, he disappears down the hall. The sound of a vault shutting behind him echoes through the hall, fading out until all that can be heard is Creed's stirring as he begins to awaken.

* * *

_Humans are. Humans are. Humans are…_

It's all that can float through my head as I contemplate what my chances are of surviving Sabretooths' impending assault. _Humans are…Intending to test her…More fitting. Mutants. Mutants._

Mutants are no longer a cause to worry? He's wrong. And I will be the one to remind him of that. Humans are the weak ones, they always were. Even Stryker had to rely on Mutants to do his dirty work. That's how it's always been. Humans are not the ones to be feared.

_We are._

"Even with this collar, I can still snap your neck, frail."

"Let's see if you can."

Fueled by the adrenaline that suddenly kicks through my veins as well as the aching rage and drive to prove myself, I step up to meet Creed full on. I should have known it would be a futile attempt but you never quite realize that until you've already overstepped your boundaries.

I'm only able to block a few of Creed's blows but one particularly nasty swing catches me from the side and on my shoulder; the force of which sends me hurtling into the opposite wall. If Creed had been at full power, I'd have either gone through the glass or I would have died on impact.

As fate would have it, I am relatively unhurt and I jump to my feet almost immediately as he comes back around with a primal growl. I duck away as he aims a fist at my head and it makes contact with the wall instead. He belts out a roar of rage and rears on me, but by now I'm already making my move—

Rogue's move actually.

Following her instructions from earlier this very morning, I sweep Creed's legs out from under him, and using my weight against his, bring him to the ground. And before he even has time to figure out what just happened I've got his arm pinned behind him as I straddle his back.

It takes both of my arms to restrain the one but it's all I need.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Azazel hovering a ways off, for once looking about as awed as I feel. "So how long did it take to freeze to death, Creed? I never quite got the chance to find out." The maliciousness and sheer cruelty in my voice shocks even me, but before I can take the time to contemplate it, Creed bucks me off and I go tumbling to the side, and in a second I'm the one who's pinned.

"I was helping you." He hisses viciously, throwing an arm across my shoulders as I struggle to get back up.

"You're really upset about that, aren't you?" I ask with a humorless smirk, staring right into his dark eyes without fear. "What? Poor little pussy cat was double-crossed _again?_ What did you expect me to do?! _Trust _that you wouldn't kill me and the kids in my sleep? You would have left them to die—"

"And I'd do it again." He retorts as he knocks me against the floor. "The second I get out of here (and I will, frail)—the second I'm gone, I'm going to find your kids and I'll be sure to make it a closed casket affair, I can assure you of that!"

I thrash against him, tears of helpless vehemence littering my eyes, blurring my vision as I try to get my arms between him. I try to kick out at him but he wrestles himself between my legs and pins me by my wrists. "Oh, but they're not kids anymore are they? That sweet little thing with the white hair seems all too grown up. I think I'll have a little extra fun with her—"

He snaps.

Azazel, that is.

All I see is a streak of red and black before Creed is knocked clean off me with a muffled grunt. I turn over on my stomach and stagger to my feet to see Azazel and Creed circling each other, both of them bearing wounds from one another in their grapple. I keep my distance, panting and shaking all over.

They go at it.

Azazel is quick and strong, every move he makes purposeful and intuitive, as if he can predict each move Creed makes and is already accounting for whatever it might be. But Creed, even without his super human strength and claws, is far more powerful; with at least a foot of height to his advantage as well as a solid, lumberjack-like build.

As Creed's fist hits Azazel beneath the ribs, I realize that someone is going to die if I don't do something. I run to the glass, pounding on it and calling to the guards down the hall, "Someone stop them! They're going to kill each other! Please!"

I don't get a response, but some of the guards outside move in closer to get a better look.

I glance back at the fight. Azazel is on the ground, blood smearing his mouth where his lip has been split and Creed has his hands on his knees, breathing heavily; with a number of cuts and bruises littering his face and staining the front of his shirt from where Azazel's tail whipped him across the chest. Creed may not be able to regenerate, but it doesn't take him long to recover and he starts back at Azazel as the red Mutant staggers to his feet.

Left with no other alternative, I make a running leap for Creed's back and throw my arms around his neck, tearing at his hair which (not unlike Azazel's) has grown longer since last I saw him; all the way down to his shoulders. He rears, slams me against the wall, the force of it causing to release my grip on him. His hand streaks out and grabs me by the front of my X-Man suit and his other hand cocks back high above his shoulder.

Azazel's arms wrap around the other Mutant's raised arm, holding him back, just as a squad of MRD's file into the room carrying riot sticks. They're shouting unintelligibly at us and I catch vague phrases like, "On the ground!" and "Get down!" and "On your knees!"

Creed drops me at some point as the MRD's start beating him with their riot sticks and Azazel backs up, allowing them to restrain him. But I am not so complacent. Someone makes a grab for me, but I, not wanting to be bound, I kick one guy clean in the face; his nose cracks audibly beneath my boot heel and he drops his night stick as he sinks to his knees, his hands over his face.

I rise on one knee and aim a nut-shot at the closest officer to my right, but someone I didn't notice before grabs my wrist with one hand and backhands me across the face. My resulting cry of pain is drowned out as three guys grab me at once and drag me backwards towards one of the tethers at the bottom left corner of the room.

I can see that they've already done the same with Azazel and they step back from him, looking pleased with themselves; as if it were all for sport. Looking to the opposite corner of the room, right across from my own post, I find Creed glowering at the group of men who congratulate themselves at restraining the "Toughest bugger out of the lot." Even Creed couldn't handle seven well-trained soldiers at once.

I'm the only one yet to be properly restrained.

The men drag me back until the back of my head meets the cold steel of the post, all the while saying things like, "Had my money on the red one."

"Are you kidding? He was about to give any second—"

"I was just waiting to see _this one _get it." One of the men says, chuckling as I wince in pain when one of the men gets a little too rough tying my hands behind my back. One of the soldiers fingers my hair and I recoil, my chest heaving with rage. This time the entire group chuckles; a nasty sound.

"Fuckin' Mutants, man." One of the only women in the group says. She kicks my foot with a smirk as she says, "C'mon, they're not going anywhere any time soon."

In response to her smug tone, I lunge out with my legs and kick hers out from under her, sending the woman crashing to the ground, much to the amusement of her male counterparts.

She scrambles up, blushing furiously, and points her gun at me, but I just glower at her, knowing she won't shoot. And she knows it, too. Still, it takes one of her coworkers to order her to stand down before she lowers her gun, mouth quivering with fury.

They leave, their laughter bouncing through the halls as they go.

I rest my head back against the wall and close my eyes. My face pounds where the hand met my face but I'm better off than the other two. I can tell Creed isn't used to not healing right away after a battle and he repeatedly cracks his neck; his jaw working as he glowers at me from across the way. Azazel spits blood onto the floor as the sounds of our breathing fills the silence.

It couldn't get much worse than this.

"Well…doesn't this seem familiar?"

"Shut up, Creed." I say automatically.

"Ahh, don't be like that, frail. After all we've been through together. Speaking of which how _are_ the runts doing? The toe-head was lookin' a little rough back there—"

"Enough," Azazel hisses before I have to chance to. "We need to escape."

I throw my head back in exasperation. "The others will be here soon enough." I say hoarsely but I'm beginning to doubt it. It's been a while and I haven't heard a thing since we were thrown in this cell.

"Will that be _before _or after they slaughter us like dogs?"

"We're not escaping!" I snap at Creed, my arms already starting to ache from the uncomfortable position. I feel exhausted but I can't fall asleep now. They don't know about my astral projection yet and I wouldn't mind keeping that little bit of information strictly between myself and the X-Men. "Even if we wanted to it would be impossible."

I close my eyes and rest my head back against the pole.

I hope Tabitha at least got out alright. If Kelly would go back on his word on this, then he definitely wouldn't just let her walk out. Maybe she got away, I tell myself. Maybe the others found her and got her out. There's no doubt that they came for us the second Rogue teleported back to the Blackbird with Angel. The question is:

Where the hell are they?

* * *

**Stay tuned and I'll BRB!**

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	23. Chapter 23 Escape To

_**Sorry for the wait! Hit a block but now we're back on track. Anyway, DISCLAIMER: Don't own X-Men only my words, thank you and Enjoy;D**_

Chapter 23: Escape to…

This is not what I had in mind when I said the others would be coming soon.

My lips part in silent protest as they drag Logan's motionless form towards the tether to my right. As two MRD's work at tying Logan to his post, three other men stand before each of us, their weapons trained on us. Only the guard who stands before me doesn't bear a gun in his hand, but rather, a knife, which he taps almost nervously against his leg as he stares down at me. His mouth is agape in a weird sort of smirk, running his tongue over his teeth and I narrow my eyes at him, irritated by his incessant tapping.

Taking this as a challenge, the man kneels down in front of me, making an annoying smacking sound as he gestures at me with the knife, "Not so tough without your powers," He rasps, the tip of his blade scraping against the front of my jumpsuit. "Are ya?"

My mouth twists in disgust but this time, I decide it might be best not to kick the guy in the face lest he be quick to use that knife of his. His smirk widens and he shifts closer to me, an odd, fidgety movement that tells me this guy isn't all right in the head. Now, I'm starting to get nervous. I press back against the post and he inches closer, digging the blade into the front of my suit.

"'Ve heard about you," He mumbles, getting so close that I can feel his breath on my ear. Gum. He's chewing gum. The minty smell of it is making me sick. "Ghostgirl," He breathes in my face, sending a new wave of nausea washing over me. I exhale, doing little to hide my disdain.

"Knock it off, Ron." One the other MRD's says, appearing to be disgusted by his own comrade. "We're done here."

"I'm not." Replies Ron, chuckling stupidly, leaning in towards me as I crane further away from him, but his partner hauls him up with a rough hand and shoves him towards the exit, muttering, "_Sick bastard…"_

Once they're gone, I'm able to breathe again and I can finally return my attention to Logan.

He isn't too badly injured but he doesn't appear to be coming around any time soon, and the minor injuries on his body aren't healing. If I could just phase the collar off of him…If I could just _reach_ him.

I stretch myself out, rising on my knees in an effort to get close to him but I just can't reach. "Logan…" I call softly. I want to go to him so badly it makes my chest ache. So they did come for us after all. But what happened with the others? Are they still fighting? Have they been captured as well? What is going on up there?

All these questions and more swirl in my brain but no answers will come until Logan wakes up. Waiting until then however, presents a challenge.

The second the guards left, Creed turned to Azazel and said, "Speaking of sick bastards, looks like we've all come full circle." He grins at me but my eyes are only for the rise and fall of Logan's chest. "Let's see, we've got a runt, a sociopath, a pedophile—no offense—" He adds with a smirk towards Azazel, who just glares at him in mild confusion. "And a crazy _bitch_ who lures men into the ice to meet their death."

"And I'd do it again in a heartbeat." I hiss at him, my eyes never leaving Logan, watching his chest rise and fall, his chin resting against his sternum. Again I pull at the chains. Nothing.

Creed chuckles, turning once more to Azazel, "And here I thought we were friends. Looks like we won't be partnering up any time soon then, eh, frail?"

He falls silent as I slump back against the post in defeat, blinking back the tiny shards that have formed in the corners of my eyes. Creed takes one long look at me and I frown, watching as his gaze travels to Logan's unconscious form. Something clicks in that psychotic brain of his and Sabretooth breaks out in a bought of laughter so low it rattles the bars and sends shivers up and down my arms, "Aaannd now you're fucking my little brother." He rumbles, staring directly into my eyes. "Nice. Looks like that makes me the odd one out, eh, Red?"

Azazel perks up, his eyebrows raised at what the other man suggests.

"Stop it!" I scream, thrusting myself forward against the cord binding my hands. I'm done hearing him talk. "Just stop! You _cannot _talk to me like that!" My hair falls in long, messy ringlets in front of my face as I tug at the bindings in my rage. "You cannot talk to me like we're allies or friends. Not after what you did. Not after you threatened _my kids_—"

"Your kids?" Creed repeats incredulously.

"You know what I mean—" I start to object, but Creed ignores me.

"Looks like your lady-love isn't so _innocent,_ after all." Creed says to Azazel who replies in what may be the first time I've ever heard him use an exasperated tone, "I do not know who she is!"

"Shut up!" I cry out. "Both of you just shut up! You stay out of this," I shoot at Azazel. "And _you_ just…be quiet or I'll throw you off another waterfall. And this time, I'll make sure you don't come bobbing back up to the surface."

I bang the back of my head against the pole repeatedly until I get dizzy enough to motivate me to stop, and, at last, a silence falls over the room.

I almost fall asleep twice; the first time waking up with a jolt when the sound of Creed scraping his only moderately long nails against the cords around his wrists; the second when I hear Logan begin to stir. I sit up on my knees and lean towards him hopefully, "Logan? Logan, can you hear me?"

"Just fine," He grunts drowsily, lifting his head to meet my watchful eye. "What hit me?"

"Same thing that got the rest of us, _runt."_

Oh, my God. I forgot about Creed's relations to Logan.

Logan still doesn't know.

But Creed does.

The moment the words are out of Victor's mouth, Logan tenses, fully awake and he makes as if to attack the other Mutant, only to be jerked back by his restraints. He looks to me, saying, "The hell is _he_ doing here?!"

"That doesn't matter," I say quickly, eager to hear anything about what's going on above. "What happened? Did you find Tabitha? Where is everyone? Are they alright?"

The stream of questions pour out of my mouth before I can stifle them and I wait impatiently as Logan fights to explain it all. According to him, Rogue teleported Warren into the Blackbird (as I suspected) but then she just teleported away saying she had to find a friend across the water (I have to hide a smirk at that). Logan was then overwhelmed by MRD's and forced the others to return to the Mansion with Tabitha, who was found trying to escape after Kelly ordered her to be locked away.

They got out.

I breathe a sigh of relief. They'll regroup and they'll be back. But when they do…

I cast a wary glance at Creed. His sharp eyes detect the tiny shift of movement and they meet mine. His stare is nothing short of hostile and...knowing. He knows that the others will be back for us and when they do, he'll take whatever window of opportunity he has to escape himself—

And take one of us out while he does.

"Do you have any word on the Professor?" I ask Logan in a low voice, pointedly looking away from Creed.

"Last I heard Storm was already on it. We didn't lose communication with Emma until we got into the Ward. Then it was chaos from there." He looks at me, glancing at Creed as he says, "They've got more than MRD's waiting for us."

"Mutants?" I inquire as even Azazel—who had previously been drifting off—sits up a little straighter.

Logan shakes his head, "Sentinels."

Sentinels? I've heard that before from Kelly. "What are—"

"Robots, frail." Sabretooth rasps impatiently. "Or hadn't you heard?"

_"You shut your damn mouth, Creed."_

"_Ohhh_ touchy, Logan. What's the matter? 'Fraid I'll steal 'er away? Looks like I'll have to get in line—"

"These sentinels—" I interrupt before their little pissing match can go any further. The three men glower at one another as I inquire further about the Sentinels. "How many do you think there are?"

"Couldn't say." Logan grunts, eyeing Azazel with growing tension, which Azazel meets with a cool smirk. The levels of testosterone are rising and there's little I can do to stop it. "There were about four of 'em last I saw. Big. More advanced than anything we've got back home. Except for Cerebro." Logan looks away from Azazel to meet my eye dead on. "They're made to hunt down mutants. And they're good at it."

"Then we'll have to be better." I say. "We'll need to move fast. If what you say is true, then we won't have time to make a stand. We need to get the Professor and get out. All we need is a—"

Distraction.

The word is lost as an electric current surges through the entire building, making a monstrously loud zapping noise before the entire system shorts out with a pop! Then everything goes black, even the collars, which usually have a blue-ish glow to them to indicate when they're active.

Which they no longer are.

A low growl in the darkness makes my blood race but nothing freaks me out half as much as the snapping sound of a wire being severed. I phase out of cords binding my own wrists, painfully aware of the sound of my breath as it quickens in the dark. I have to get Logan out of here. I hold up a glowing hand that only lights up the space around us as the sounds of twisting metal and primal growls sends a cool sweat down my collar. The moment my hand lights up the space, Creed lunges for me.

Both Azazel and Logan reach me at the same time and before I have time to focus my attention on a defensive, we bamf out of the cell and land, disoriented, in a heap back in the room where we first encountered Senator Kelly. The Ward.

"Down!" Wolverine shouts and shoves me down behind a large computer as shots hail down on us. Red emergency lights provide our only means of vision aside from the seizure enducing light show created by the lazers being fired at us by large, spider-like robots. Azazel takes off right away, teleporting onto the back of one of the sentinels and latching onto it before teleporting a few feet above the air and dropping it down onto two more sentinels, smashing all three to pieces. He straightens, runs a hand through his hair, and gives Logan a haughty smirk as he dusts himself off.

Logan growls in response and takes off to do a little maintenance work himself.

I roll myself as they try to out-do each other, Logan slicing through metal like loaves of bread, while Azazel finds more…creative ways of destroying each sentinel. I busy myself with removing each of our collars, starting with my own. I make my way over to Logan, careful to wait until he beheads one of the spiders with one mighty swipe of his claws before approaching him and phasing the disabled metal off of his neck.

I meet his eye, touching a hand to his face and he presses his forehead against mine a moment, both of us glad to be free. The cuts and bruises he'd suffered have all but disappeared and all of us are geared for a fight.

I turn to Azazel next, wanting to make sure we don't get caught in case the collars are suddenly reactivated. The red glow of the emergency lights cast an eerie, red hue to his already fiery persona but I shake off my hesitance and approach him without fear. He stares down at me with his icy stare as I reach up a red-tinted hand and remove the collar.

_I can't read his expressions anymore,_ I realize sadly as he continues to stare at me and I at him, remembering how he defended me when I would surely have been slain by Creed. _I miss that._

_No, I don't,_ I think to myself as I step away from him. _You and I are nothing now. _

I might not be able to read him, but he definitely can read me. His lips tighten and he looks as though he really wants to say something to me; something earnest and _real._ And I'm about to listen when a familiar scream causes all of us to give a sudden start. In slow motion, I turn towards the sound and start to take off in its direction as adrenaline races through my heart, boils my blood.

"Tabitha!"

We enter the cell block of the Ward, where other Mutants being held captive are attempting to flee during the momentary power outage, and, through the crowd, I can see her fall just as Sabretooth's claws rake across her face. She hits the ground with a dull thud, her torn wings fluttering around her like a fuzzy cloak while Creed moves to kick her.

Phasing my way through the crowd with tears of rage in my eyes, I cry out for her and Creed looks up, his eyes reflecting green in the red light and he grins at my hatred of him. But before I can reach him, Creed is engulfed in a cloud of smoke as Azazel teleports before him, and in the next second they're gone.

I stop in my tracks and give a scream of fury, having missed my chance to avenge Tabitha; my fallen Tabitha. But, knowing there is still a chance to save her, I kneel beside the young woman and take her face in my hands, chest heaving. The blood blends in all too well in the red-bathed Ward but I can still see the deep gashes cutting diagonally through her face as well as her chest and side. Not her. Not my little Tabitha. So sweet, so small, so still.

Holding back my tears, Logan and I begin to lift her just as another barrage of MRD's, accompanied by their sentinels, arrive to reclaim their prisoners.

I let go of Tabitha's arm and throw up a force field just in time. Shouting over my shoulder, I tell Logan to start moving. We have to get out of here while we have the chance. We have to get in contact with Emma again, to find out what the situation is, but we can't do that until we leave the Ward. And get Tabitha out of harms' way.

We make our way swiftly out of the Ward, sealing the door behind us. " 'Emma!' " I call telepathically. " 'Emma, where is the Professor?!' "

" 'Thank God you're alright!' " Emma cries hysterically. " 'I lost contact with everyone hours ago but last I heard_ he_ was going to Sub-level 48-E where they were taking Xavier.' "

" 'He?' " Logan questions immediately, still holding the rapidly fading Tabitha in his arms. Her hair is caked in her own blood, her white wings in tatters and speckled in red, which becomes all the more contrasting when the lights suddenly come back on. The change of lighting makes my head hurt and I cringe as Logan asks, " 'He who?' "

"I believe that would be me," Erik's voice echoes through our minds as well as out loud as he and a few Mutants I don't quite recognize (including an elfish looking girl with pink skin) enter the room with the casual flick of his wrist, which pries the steel door open to gain him access to the Ward. This entire facility is made of metal.

He gives another wave of his hand and the hallway just behind us, which is currently littered with MRD's, collapses and seals us off from the immediate danger. "Erik," I breathe, dropping the shield and going to him in my exhilaration, and he wraps his arms around me comfortably as Logan looks on, rendered speechless in a mixture of relief and anger. _I'll explain it to him later,_ I promise myself.

"And you said code was ineffective."

"Never said that," I reply with a faint chuckle, wiping the relieved tears from my eyes. The man has a shit memory. I step back from him and return my attention to the matter at hand, my eyes going to Tabtiha's limp form (pointedly ignoring Logan's suspicious glare). "She's hurt. We need to get her to Donovan, the Healer. Now."

"Where is he?" Magneto asks right away, stepping forward to observe the girl. Her lips are turning chalk-white and her breath comes in shallow gasps.

"Ummm, Sydney!" I exclaim. "But I'm not sure where—"

" 'I do.' " Emma's voice says and Erik gives a nod to the elf-girl, who steps forward and wordlessly lifts a glowing, lilac-colored stake in her pink hand and, without warning, touches it to Logan's shoulder. And then, with a burst of light that momentarily blinds me, both Logan and Tabitha teleport away, leaving an empty space and a puddle of blood where they once stood.

I whirl on Erik, ready to spit venom, but he holds up a calming hand, "They're safe, I give you my word. Now come, my dear." He begins to corral me down a new path, deeper into the facility. "It's time our dear friend were free of this place, don't you think?"

We walk at a swift pace, with Magneto's posse following close behind. We occasionally run into armed guards, but each time, I raise a shield while Erik and his Mutant guards take out the obstacles in our way. The humans don't stand a chance against us. Erik grins at me approvingly and I return his smirk with one of my own.

I like how it feels.

To watch them scurry.

We reach Sub-level 48-E to find ourselves trapped within a large arena that must be at least seven stories high, surrounded by guards. Once again, we've lost communication with Emma. I put up our shield once more, but the sound of derisive laughter over an intercom causes us all to halt our actions to listen.

"Why, Senator," Erik addresses the voice from behind my shield. "I wasn't expecting your company. Our meeting isn't until _next week_, remember?"

The laughter stops abruptly. "You speak as if you own the place, Magnus." Kelly's cold voice cuts through the com as his figure appears behind a large, glass viewing window about three stories above the ground. He glares down at us hatefully as we are forced to look up to him. The thought is enough to make me spit.

"I intend to, Robert." Erik replies with an iciness I haven't heard from him before. I glance at him to see a muscle going in his temple. "In due time." He smiles. "Now enough of these games, Senator. Return to us our dear friend, Xavier, and I _may_ choose not to take a personal offense to this outrage."

"Your team obviously lacks communication, Mr. Lehnsherr." Kelly returns softly, his voice echoing against the cylindrical arena. "The rest of your team already made off with the Good Professor, or hadn't you heard?" We exchange glances as he says, "Ah, I see. Well, no matter. It wasn't him I wanted anyway."

A loud buzzing noise assaults our ears as a circle opens up in the floor right in the middle of our band of Mutants and we duck away as something large and mechanical rises out of the trembling ground. "Erik," I whisper to him, gripping his arm as a six story-tall Sentinel rises out of the floor. It looks oddly human, which only makes it that more ominous. Its eyes glow menacingly as, which a hiss of working gears, it turns its massive head to lock onto us. "Let's get out of here!"

"Not yet," Erik tells me, the smirk gone from his face and replaced with a look of intent. "I want to see what these _toys_ can do."

He approaches the Sentinel and it raises a hand and points it directly at him. The palm of the Sentinel's hand begins to glow and I hurry to Eriks' side, raising my hands to ward off the blow. However, I'm not expecting such a massive impact and the blast from the Sentinel hits my shield like a bomb and I shatter beneath its power, collapsing on the hard floor as my ears begin to ring.

Erik kneels on one knee at my side, raising a hand and crushing the Sentinel's hand with his magnetism as his cohorts jump into action. As I come to, his muffled voice calls out to him. Ears still ringing and shaking all over, I allow him to help me to my feet. My own voice sounds muted as I curse, saying, "Those things are…tougher than I thought." I stagger, nearly falling to the floor once more but Erik steadies me, gazing into my eyes as he says, "I'm going to get you out of here."

"Blink," He calls, lifting his head to search for his pink-skinned companion. "To me—"

Erik falls back with a pained groan as a lazer blast streaks across his head, knocking his helmet clean off. Looking to find its source, I find an army of spider Sentinel's heading right for us. I lift a hand, trying to concentrate my energy on blasting the damn things away, but the effort is too much for me in my weakened state and I fall back with a sharp cry as one of the spiders lunges forward and knocks me to the ground.

It's pinchers snap at me as I push against its hollow, metal frame. It weighs a ton. Doesn't budge an inch. It's camera-lens eyes zoom in on my face as I bang on its hard exterior, trying desperately to phase away and it's pinchers lower, heading right for my throat.

I let out a true scream of terror, but before it's pinchers can close around my flesh, a heavy weight causes the machine to dip, successfully distracting it long enough for Azazel to plunge his reclaimed swords into the joints linking its head to its body. With a firm jerk, Azazel flings the head away and the spider's systems shut down with a whirr, its metal frame remaining stationary above me, like a haunting statute.

Still standing atop the machine, Azazel crouches down and leers at me a moment, his tail swishing teasingly behind him as he extends a hand to me. Too panicked to roll my eyes or swallow my pride long enough to thank him, I reach for him and he teleports me out from beneath the spider's prison. It doesn't take me long, once I'm free, to realize that we are losing this fight.

Magneto's forces are falling back and Erik himself appears dazed as Blink supports him. He's injured, a scorch mark marring his suit below his ribs as well as his helmet.

We both start towards him at the same time, but two metal cords snake out of seemingly nowhere and catch us both around the midsection, pulling us in opposite directions. As I'm hoisted high into the air at an alarming speed, I see that the cords are coming from random cavities in the colossal Sentinel's frame and are currently thrashing about other Mutants as well.

I'm turned upside down, legs flailing and I only have time to see the ground miles below me before it suddenly comes rushing up to greet me. I'm falling.

"Blink!" Erik shouts, throwing out an arm as I plummet to the floor and I catch a brief flash of pink as Blink draws her arm and shoots a stake at me—

Just as Azazel's arms wrap around my waist.

What happens next is unlike anything I've ever experienced. It doesn't feel like teleporting but I know that's what's happening. We're fading in and out of that same crushing darkness as Blink's glowing stake and Azazel's own teleporting channels converge and vie for control. A tug of war that could end in disaster. But just as it starts to become difficult to breathe, the darkness spits us both out on hard gravel and I taste asphalt as my face makes contact with the hard ground. Rising dizzily on my knees, I spit out rock and blood and fall on my back as a feeling of unshakeable vertigo overwhelms me.

I lie on the ground, the black sky spinning violently before me and I close my eyes as I inhale air so cold it chills my very lungs. Concentrating on the pain of it, rather than the nausea, I slowly feel both begin to ebb away. I hear a groan from beside me and cautiously open my eyes and turning my head to see Azazel lying a foot or so away from me, his eyes blinking rapidly as he fights to make sense of what just happened.

"Azazel…" I murmur in my disorientation and he looks up, his cold eyes meeting mine, our faces only a foot or so apart in the icy street. His breath swirls as he exhales and I feel pressure in my hand. I glance between us to find our hands entwined.

We lie there a moment more, just breathing and…_feeling_ before I come abruptly to my senses. Sitting up, I close my eyes as my head spins and press my palms into my forehead. "Blink." I say, thinking aloud. "You and her…teleported at the same time. How is that even possible?"

He doesn't respond but rather gets to his feet and offers me a hand up. I get up on my own, not wanting to feel the heat of his palm again in spite of the frigid air now turning my fingers to ice. My jump suit does little to protect me from the air as I turn in a slow circle.

"Where are we?" I ask as the sudden wooziness subsides. I look around a long while and for a brief moment wonder if we've been transported to sometime in the past. The buildings are all very rustic looking and, rather than smooth black gravel, stone paves the ground everywhere you go. All stores and buildings look like ancient antique shops and the street appears to be deserted completely deserted.

Azazel's voice is hollow and detached.

"Russia."

* * *

_**Less of a wait this time! Promise!...but don't hold me to that. Until next time!**_

_**~THESCRIBE;D**_


	24. Chapter 24 Russia

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING BUT MY WORDS. THANKS AND ENJOY ;D**

Chapter 24: Russia

_Previously, on the New World:_

"_Where are we?" I ask as the sudden wooziness subsides. I look around a long while and for a brief moment wonder if we've been transported to sometime in the past. The buildings are all very rustic looking and, rather than smooth black gravel, stone paves the ground everywhere you go. All stores and buildings look like ancient antique shops and the street appears to be deserted completely deserted. _

_Azazel's voice is hollow and detached. _

"_Russia."_

I freeze in my tracks, my breath no longer making small smoke signals in the air as I've stopped breathing. For a moment, I can only process that single word in my mind. Then I shake my head and begin to chuckle, my back still to Azazel as I continue to shake my head side to side, bringing a hand to my mouth to stifle my maniacal laughter, "Sure!" I say in a hushed voice, eyes sparkling in amazement at my shit luck as I take in the surrounding area. "Because, you know, why the hell not?!"

I turn around to find Azazel looking at me. Again.

"Well?" I snap, folding my arms as the talons of Russian winter turn my limbs to ice. He cocks an eyebrow at me but says nothing. "What are we waiting for?" I try again. "Let's go."

He makes no move, no shift, nothing. Just eyes me until I can't take it any longer. It's growing colder by the second and I'm growing angrier and angrier the longer he makes me await his reply. "What?!"

"We cannot leave." He says at last, his voice low as always.

Instantly wary of him, I take a step back as I ask, "Why not?"

"I cannot make such a trip." He explains, eyes narrowing at me. "We could end up in middle of ocean. Here we will take plane."

"I don't exactly have my passport on me at the moment." I quip, shifting from foot to foot as a winter wind whips my hair about. If Bayville was cold this is the definition of fucking freezing. Azazel breaks his usually unwavering gaze, looking for the first time uncomfortable.

"What?" I question, suspicious.

"I know of way." He starts to approach me, slowly. I take one step back, setting my boundary, but he continues forward, saying in a strangely strained voice, "There are people here. People who know me. People who can help." He stops in front of me, tail jerking from side to side with visible anxiety. Is that…_fear_ in his eyes? "But they are_ dangerous_ people. We must be cautious." His eyes pierce deep into mine as he asks, "Do you understand?"

"Azazel, you're scaring me." I say in an undertone, thoroughly unnerved by the turn his demeanor has taken. His tail continues to twitch behind him nervously and my eyes flicker between each of his own, trying to find what he won't willingly reveal to me. "What's going on?"

He parts his red lips (probably to say he's "not to be explaining" or something) but I tense as a pair of headlights begin to round the street corner just a block away. I grab his arm, made frightened by his own anxious demeanor, "Azazel!" I hiss as he turns to see the headlights fast approaching us. "Your watch."

He looks down at it, remembering that it's there (as we had given it back to him on our way to MRD HQ) and casually flicks the dial; reverting to a more human form just as the car pulls up beside us. It's long, sleek and black, with windows tinted so dark that you can only see inside if the window is rolled down. Or when the door opens.

Like it's doing now.

I hold my breath and watch as the door swings open with a soft click, and a man in a tailored suit steps out, the entire vehicle shifting with a faint creak as his dense weight is relieved from it. The man is nothing short of terrifying. His narrowed eyes appear black in the darkly lit street (so much so that I can't make out what color they actually are) and they stare at us with such apathy that I wonder if he sees us at all. His jaw is jagged, angling sharply beneath a well-kept beard that matches his dark, grey-peppered hair, which curls around his ears, tamed by hair gel.

He is not by any means handsome but there is a definite allure to be seen, perhaps due to his commanding presence that paints a picture of authority and wealth. His nose is long and proud, his aged face etched with hard lines of stone. One bear-sized hand grips the frame of the door while the other tugs at the lapels of his dark-grey suit, a red handkerchief in his breast pocket. He dwarfs Azazel in every way, with Azazel slightly shorter and more athletically slender in build, whereas this man is taller and stockier, bulky muscle visible even beneath his suit.

The two size each other up, Azazel standing rigid as the man stares into his eyes with those devoid, black marbles. Shark eyes. Then suddenly, _alarmingly,_ the man breaks out in a toothy grin, laughing a deep, booming chortle that makes me jump, and his long arms fly out and wrap around Azazels shoulders in a tight embrace. The larger man lifts Azazel clear off the ground as he shouts happily at him in Russian. I catch only the words "Comrade" and "Rooski," but aside from that I have no idea what he's saying. This display of affection, however, only makes me more afraid.

No one just _hugs _Azazel.

If this man can get away with something like that what else is he capable of? The man oozes power. Asserts dominance. Radiates darkness.

I want desperately to beg Azazel that we leave immediately, but I keep my silence, completely taken aback by what just happened, as the man releases his hold of Azazel and slaps him on the back with a hearty chuckle. His twinkling eyes drift down to me in my jump suit, jacked-up hair, and battered body, and I shudder as his gaze crawls over me, invading my personal space even from a distance, and I feel a growing urge to slap him across the face as his eyes linger where they damn well shouldn't.

His scoffs at my blatant distrust of him and inclines his head towards me, questioning about me in Russian. Azazel glances at me as if he only just realized I'm here, and gives an aloof reply. I don't think I'm going to like this language barrier.

"Ah, American?" The man inquires. His accent is even thicker than Azazels'; his voice deeper, raspier, and much less inviting in spite of his misleadingly cheerful countenance. I nod once, not falling for it. "Tell me your name."

A command. Remembering Azazel's words of warning, I tell him my name and he smirks, an easy gesture. "I am Grigori Vahkrov." He says, giving me a small bow with his left arm crooked inward, touching a hand to his barrel chest. "Welcome to Russia!"

I give him a tentative nod back, but don't smile. I don't trust him. Not in the least. He scoffs again, quieter, his eyes fastening on me a moment longer before he steps aside and gestures towards the open door of the car, "Come. You are cold. I take you to my home, now."

I glance hesitantly at Azazel but he is already walking past me, and climbing into the car. I begin to follow suit, disliking the idea of passing the looming giant as he holds open the door, and sure enough, he moves just enough to bar my path when I try to get in. I glare up at him, bracing myself, and I watch numbly as one of his large, paw-like hands reaches for his breast pocket and slowly withdraws the blood red handkerchief. His jeweled knuckles are callused and scarred, and I wonder if one of those rings is a wedding ring. Not likely.

Wordlessly, his eyes pierce through mine as he gently dabs the silky cloth on my mouth, where the gravel left its mark on my lips when I ate it upon our arrival here. I make no move against him, knowing this is just a display, meant to either frighten me into submission or simply make me squirm, probably both. I intend on doing neither.

I stare defiantly into his eyes as a chemically smell drifts up from the handkerchief, masked by a nauseatingly musky cologne. The smell makes me feel light headed, but still, I hold my ground—and my breath. He withdraws the cloth, satisfied by my response, before returning it to his pocket.

"Thank you." I say softly, searching for something in those pools of endless darkness, but only the light reflecting from the street lights dances in them, leaving them otherwise empty. His smirk is hollow and filled with significance as he says, "Is my pleasure." And lets me into the car.

I really don't want to be here.

The two men—both strangers to me—sit languidly in the car in the tensest, "comfortable" silence I've ever known. They both sit with their legs stretched out and their posture relaxed, while I sit bolt right up, with my legs crossed tightly, my elbows drawn in, and my hands placed strategically in my lap. But, for all my efforts, I am unable to stay out of Grigori's grasp for long.

"What happened here?" Grigori inquires, taking a firm hold of my forearm, his fingers wrapping entirely around it as his eyes take in the pattern of angry, red creases that refuses to leave the skin encircling my wrists from where the cord burrowed into my flesh. Resisting the need to get away from him as my stomach gives an uncomfortable twist, I think desperately of an answer.

Azazel, thankfully, beats me to it and begins to explain, vaguely, the situation, speaking clearly and fluently in his native tongue. I've never heard him speak so swiftly, so clearly. It's...nice. Really nice. Watching him speak, I lose myself a moment, marveling at the way the words come out of his mouth with such ease, and I find that I don't really care so much that I can't understand what he's saying at the moment. I do, however, know what he's telling the larger Russian and It would seem Grigori already knows about Azazel being a Mutant. Grigori nods as he listens attentively to Azazel's embellishment, his fingers still curled possessively around my forearm and I wince when I feel his index finger slowly stroke the soft skin of my forearm.

"You have faced some hardships." He remarks, holding fast as I give my arm a faint tug. "MRD's grow powerful in the U.S…I am not liking this. Next thing you know, Russia will be hiring humans to do Mutants' job!" He barks with laughter and releases me at last, leaving a new red band around my arm. The mere mention of Mutants makes my blood quicken. So he is a Human.

"Speaking of which, my friend," He turns to Azazel, smile disappearing into that hard curve of a mouth, leaning forward on his elbows stoically as his voice lowers. "You have missed much in your absence…" His happy-go-lucky grin returns and he sits up. "But we will speak of this later. After dinner, of course."

I look at him curiously. It's five in the morning and neither Azazel nor I have gotten much of any sleep, reminding me of my utter exhaustion from the days' events. And while I wouldn't mind something to eat, I don't think a _meal_ is in order here. Grigori acknowledges my look but just leans back in his seat, smiling with a look that says that his word is final. It will be done.

Changing the subject, Azazel comments on the emptiness of the streets, saying, "Curfew has extended since I was gone. Trouble with the Vorak's?"

Who?

"Nyet. It is…friendly reminder. For safety reasons." Grigori looks out the heavily tinted window as the car slows to a stop before a very large, very dark Victorian manner, "Ah, we are here."

I follow the two men inside, trying to keep my distance but a tight circle of armed men wearing sharp, black suits and wire ear pieces keep me from lingering very far behind. Or to the left. Or to the right…Who_ is_ this guy?

The warmth that greets us as we enter the vast estate melts the very ice from my shoulders and numbs my fingers as my eyes take in the dimly lit room. A luxurious staircase to the right, a cracking fireplace glimmering in the next room, a crystal chandelier hanging above our heads…It's grand even as far as mansions go. Like everything else here, I feel as though I've stepped through time into some new world sometime in the far past. I hardly notice it when Azazel disappears, my attention fixing on the many elaborate paintings on the walls that climb up high to the ceiling which leads to a hand-painting of clouds and angels above my head.

Something solid and smolderingly hot brushes against my back as a pair of hands close around my arms, just above the elbow. I jump, gasping as Grigori presses me against his chest so that I can feel it swell as he takes a deep breath, gazing up at the painting, as he murmurs, "Is beautiful, da?"

I want so badly to phase away…but something in my head is telling me to refrain. It sounds almost like a whisper in fact…" 'Do not use your powers. Do not fight or we will both die.' "

Azazel! He's communicating with me. Like the old days…

My heart gives a flutter and I give a sharp intake of breath, elated; only to once again be brought crashing back to the reality at hand—which currently has its hands on me now. I swallow the lump in my throat as his thumb caresses my arm and his chest rises and falls. "Yes, it is." Knowing I should say more, I take a frightened breath and add, "Must cost a fortune."

He chuckles, a reverberating sound, and I can feel the vibrations of his baritone on my back. He steps closer, fitting me into the curve of his body. My knees wobble beneath me as the twist in my gut makes me weak. No one has ever made me feel this...sick before. Not Creed, not Stryker, not anyone. What is it about this man that makes him so...Frightening?

"Da," He rumbles, leaning down to rest his head by my own. He breathes me in, as he says in a deadly whisper, "_But everything I own is well worth the price I pay to keep it."_

"And what price is that?" The challenging retort slips out before I can censor my personal thoughts and Grigori becomes very still, recognizing the chill in my question. His grip slowly tightens like a vice around my arms, "You should not ask such questions." He whispers in a voice scarier beyond anything I've ever encountered; quiet, sinister, lethal. I can hardly imagine what it would be like to hear him yell. "In America, you ask question, you get answer. Here, you ask question, you die miserable death." He gives me a slight shake, his breath in my hair. "Remember that."

" 'Azazel, where the fuck are you?!' "

I don't actually expect him to show, but the spike of fear in my emotions must have alerted him to some sort of danger. He bamfs into the room directly across from where Grigori restrains me, no longer wearing his disguise, and carrying in his hand a black duffle bag. His eyes zero in on us and freeze, his head low and body poised, but Grigori doesn't let me go; doesn't jump back or try to pretend nothing is wrong. If anything he increases the pressure on my arms to the point of pain and smirks. Azazel and Grigori exchange a look and I can only imagine the fire being shot between the two.

Then Azazel straightens and adopts a faint smirk saying something jokingly in Russian. Grigori replies back with an equally false tone of lightheartedness and loosens his grip, deliberately sliding his hands down the length of my arms before stepping away to wrap an arm around Azazels' shoulders, speaking in a hearty voice as he steers him into the living room with the fireplace.

I watch as they go, but before they disappear into the living room, Azazel casts me a sharp look of warning over Grigori's shoulder. Something is most definitely not right about this entire set up. I have little other choice, however, but to follow as Grigori's body guards begin to coerce me into the living room.

As Grigori's butler goes to wake the maids to cook up something for us to eat, Grigori sheds his jacket, revealing a white, buttoned up shirt that stretches and strains beneath his massive frame with each breath he takes. He loosens the tie around his neck and, fast as lightning, catches me looking at him. I look away hurriedly just as an anxious-looking maid approaches me, carrying in her hands a bundle of clothes.

"What is this?" I question without taking the clothes and ignoring the pleading look in the young woman's dark rimmed eyes.

"Hospitality, I believe is word." Grigori replies infuriatingly, carelessly throwing his tie over his right shoulder; left handed. Azazel glares at me and I stand up with a huff and accept the clothes, asking, "Where do I—?"

Grigori barks a harsh order at the maid, who winces as if struck and begins to usher me up the staircase in the living room (So many stairs…), murmuring softly, urgently, in Russian. I follow her, guilty at causing her such distress. She barely looks above 18 but her hair has already begun to grey. She climbs swiftly up the steps and I glance down at Azazel to find him staring up after me. I can't read his look but something about his demeanor screams danger.

* * *

"I thought I knew you better, Azazel. I never took you for one to fall so carelessly in love."

"I am not in love with her. She means nothing, same as the others."

"You have never once lied to me, my friend. It would be unbecoming of you to start now...Now tell me, is she the reason for your departure?"

"She is…But not for the reasons you think. I do not love her. I do not even know entirely who she is to me. All I knew was that I couldn't go another day without knowing. And putting an end to it."

"Ah, so you intend to kill her, then?" Grigori's eyes lit up at the prospect. "Shall we do it tonight?"

Azazel shook his head, bristling but trying hard not to show it. "I still do not know what she means to me. Killing her would only end my means of discovering what that is. I have to know why I can't remember." Azazel met the Human's eye, keeping his head low and his tone respectful. "And then I can truly be at peace."

Disappointed, Grigori stood up a little straighter and turned to the mantle, broodingly. "I gave you my permission to go without question," He said. "Do you know why?"

Azazel's silence was as good as a "No."

"Because you are loyal. Because you are a brother. And because you owe me a life debt." Grigori reminded Azazel severely, something he had done all too often whenever Azazel would show hesitance during a job. "You have been by my side unwaveringly. I would hate to see that loyalty put in question for the sake of a woman. No matter how beautiful she is."

"I understand your reason for concern," Azazel stated slowly, careful not to let his protective instincts show through his placid mask. "But she will not be a problem. I will return her to America very soon. And I will have my answers. And when I do, I will return where I belong. For good." The truth was, Azazel knew very well that he did love her. At least at one time. Even now, he could feel his attachment to her, so much so that it had begun to be something of a handicap to him. He would never openly admit it, but had the MRD's not intervened, Creed would have most certainly killed him. But even more unsettling than the fact that Azazel had been willing to put his life in jeopardy for hers, was that he feared for her safety in the even that he was killed. He was thinking of her even with his own life on the line.

It was something he had struggled to stay away from all his life. Never fall in love. Never give your enemies a gun to shoot you with. And yet here he was, gun in hand with Grigori just holding out his hand and waiting for Azazel to slip up. But he couldn't slip up. No matter how heavy his emotions would weigh on him. For her sake if not for his own.

"See that you do, Azazel." Grigori replied, the false smile gone from his face and replaced by the look of a man who would torture a child with the same emotion as carving a turkey. "The mafia waits for no man. And neither do I."

* * *

When I step back down the stair case wearing Grigori's black night slip, robe and silky undergarments, I can hear the two men speaking in low voices to distinct, Russian lyrics. But the moment I reach the bottom on the stair, they both turn and look me over in unison. I immediately feel self conscious. Not only is the dress of the night skirt painfully short but there are cuts and bruises all over my body from my encounter with the Brotherhood, Victor Creed, and Kelly's Sentinels.

Busy day.

Grigori grins, staring at me unabashedly and rises to full height to greet me, holding in his hand a glass of clear liquid. Gee, I wonder what that is…

You are just in time for dinner," He says boldly and begins to lead me to the table, his hand at the small of my back. He sits me down at the large table meant for twenty, with him sitting at the head of the table and Azazel taking a relaxed seat across from me. is that caviar? Uck!

Guards stand silently around the room, their hands folded in front of them with hard stares. I feel eyes on me but continue to stare anywhere but at them, at Azazel, or god forbid at Grigori.

"You are Mutant," Grigori interrupts the silence as I pick at my food, suddenly not very hungry. "What is your ability?" I look up at him sharply, then at Azazel, who says matter-of-factly in my head, " 'Tell him of your force fields but say nothing else.' "

I sigh, but do as he says. Grigori leans forward excitedly. "Really? Show me."

I begrudgingly lift a finger, noticing the guards shift uncomfortably, ready to draw their guns, which rest patiently each of their hips. Grigori takes no notice of them and folds his hands together as he watches me light a small ball of energy on the tip of my finger. I give it a flick down the table and it shatters a vase on contact.

Several men reach for their guns but when Grigori bursts out in impressed laughter, clapping his enormous hands together, they loosen up. "Is good trick, eh?" He chuckles and I sit up a little straighter, a bit offended at the term "trick," but I say nothing of it as I manage to eat some of the steak on my plate as well as half of my sour dough bread. I don't touch the wine or the Vodka sitting in the middle of the table but both are nearly gone by the time dinner is over, during which time Azazel listens while Grigori speaks to him in Russian, candidly ignoring the fact that I can't understand them.

I dip a finger into the wine and run my finger around the rim of the glass, making a soft whistle as it vibrates; bored out of my mind, and I nearly spill over the entire glass when Grigori abruptly stands up with the mighty clap of his hands. "Enough of my chatter," He says grandly as I steady my racing pulse. I eye Azazel in alarm but he grins at me from across the table as Grigori offers me his arm, saying, "I will show you to your room."

I stand, looking into those black eyes, which now appear to be a dark, dark green, flecked with brown. I take his arm but my face remains grim. He lays a hand over mine and squeezes it with a leer that pulls at the corner of his full lips and contrasts gravely with the intent written in the depths of his eyes. A sharp pain in my diaphragm where Josef's blade pierced my body sends a twinge down my spine, reminding me of the danger that looms ever so near.

If, by morning, we aren't gone, I'm leaving this place. Even if it means having to travel on my own. I'll be able to reach someone, somehow. And even if not, I know that I can't stay here. I'm not entirely sure who this man is or what his ties are to Azazel, but considering Azazel's checkered past, I know it's no good.

_By morning,_ I tell myself as Grigori begins to lead me up the stairs. _If we aren't gone by morning, I'm leaving. With or without you._

* * *

**_More chapters to come and hopefully soon! Reviews are encouraged. Until next time on the New World!_**

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	25. Chapter 25 On Thin Ice

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING BUT MY WORDS AND OC's! **

**_WARNING: May contain darker material than normal but I figured it was time to up the ante. If things get too intense I'll tone things down a bit. Now, without further adou...Enjoy;D_**

Chapter 25: On Thin Ice

"What do you mean we can't leave?" I hiss in a low whisper as Azazel moves past me to close the window by the night stand; locking it like he did the door to our room just moments ago. "I thought you two were friends."

He stops and glances at me over his shoulder, eye brows raised as if to say, "Seriously?"

"Whatever," I mutter irritably as he moves next to drop his duffle bag on the plush, king-sized bed. He unzips it and starts to remove bundles of clothing from it. "Do what you want. I'm leaving at first light."

" 'You mean whenever you wake up.' " Azazel corrects from the recesses of my subconscious.

" 'Well…yes—" I give an audible gasp as I realize something. If I go to sleep, I'll disappear again. I usually sleep anywhere between 6 to 9 hours a night. Sometimes more. It varies depending on how exhausted I am, and each and every time I disappear in the middle of the night; or so Logan tells me. But if I try to stay awake and leave then, I'll be too tired to make the trip back home on my own. I wouldn't even know the first place to go and I don't speak a word of Russian. The idea of trying to make it on my own frightens me. But then so does the idea of sleeping in this house with Grigori Vahkrov lurking somewhere within these walls.

" 'Wait…' " I think aloud to Azazel as something dawns on me. " 'How did you know I disappear when I sleep? I never told you that.' "

Azazel remains silent but, as usual, his silence speaks volumes. " 'Have you been…spying on me?' "

" 'As I said before, I wanted to know more about you…This involves the spying, da.' "

I squeeze my eyes shut and press my finger tips into my temples with a faint groan. "This isn't happening…" I murmur out loud, shaking my head and I recoil when Azazel is suddenly there, taking hold of my wrists and lowering my hands from my face.

"I have spoken to Grigori," He murmurs before I can pull away from him and I stop to listen as he says, "He has agreed to let us leave. On his terms."

I study him a moment, this paranoia is incredibly strange for him. "Who is this guy, Azazel?"

"He is…old friend. He is my employer." Azazel lowers his voice in warning, "And he is not to be trifled with."

I lower my voice even more as I say, "Azazel, I need to know what to look out for here. I feel like I'm blind-folded and headed for a cliff." I sigh, realizing he probably won't tell me anyway. "Why did you tell me not to—"

His hand flies over my mouth as he says, "Because alcohol does not sit well with you. Trust me, it is better you abstain."

" 'What?!" I exclaim mentally as I fight against his death grip. " 'That's not what I was going to say!' "

" 'You must be careful. This room is tapped. We are being heard.' "

" 'What?' " I whisper mentally, ceasing my struggling and Azazel removes his hand as I silently sweep the room with my eyes. I can't see any cameras or wires but then they're probably microscopic anyway.

" 'There are no cameras,' "Azazel assures me, running a hand through his hair. " 'And I don't want them knowing all that you are capable of. Power frightens men like Grigori when he doesn't have complete control of it. He may suspect you hide something, but this is better than him knowing.' "

" 'I don't like this, Azazel.' " I tell him, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his arms the way he wanted me to, back when we were still on the run. Back when I had the power to forgive him and let everything be alright. But didn't. And for what? I had been afraid then, but I'm even more afraid now. Only this time, there's no one I can turn to for comfort.

No one but myself to rely on.

Just as it's always been.

And I'm better off for it. I'll ride this out and see where it takes me, but until then, I'll tread lightly. I'll watch my back. And I'll look out for myself until I can figure out what to do about Azazel. But until then…

I'm going to take a shower.

And then I'm going to get some sleep.

* * *

I make him wait outside while I hastily shower. I don't particularly like the idea of sharing a room with him but I think I would die of fright if I had to sleep alone. _That won't stop me from booting him on the floor, I_ think as I slip back on the black night dress, keeping on the undergarments that came with it. Looking in the mirror, I study the faint bruises around my neck, the cut on my full, lower lip and the deep creases of exhaustion beneath my dark brown almond-shaped eyes. I run my hands through my wet hair, and give it a tousle so my dark hair falls over my shoulders in messy little ringlets. _There is no way we're sharing a—_

_Bed._

I exit the bathroom, comb in hand and stop dead in my tracks when I find Azazel already lying in bed—_my bed—_wearing nothing but a pair of black bottoms and a smug look on his face. "What are you doing in here?" I ask sharply, crossing my arms as his eyes drift down south. I snap my fingers to get his attention. "I told you to wait outside."

"Is that what you said?" He mutters before taking a deep breath and sinking further down into the covers, lazily stretching his arms out to his full wing-span, like the lounge lizard he is—

But god does it look so inviting.

The sheets are a delicious mix of deep reds, soft browns, and immaculate whites, with big, fluffy pillows lining the head of the bed and a sexy, half-naked man waiting just. For. Me. He has tattoos now. He never had tattoos when I knew him, but now there are distinct markings on his chest and left shoulder. The black ink looks striking against his crimson skin, which looks so soft and smooth in the warm lighting, surrounded by all those cool, silky sheets…

I shiver, suddenly cold, and I stalk over angrily to his side, tapping my foot at him, "Uh-uh, you're sleeping on the floor."

"Think so?" He asks through closed eyes, his hands going behind his head in satisfaction. I can smell his cologne; faint but definitely there.

I lower my voice to an angry growl, "Know so."

"That's too bad." He mumbles, peeping one eye open to meet mine as he says huskily, "I was to keep you warm tonight. You must be cold." He adds, his gaze lingering at my breasts and I hastily move my crossed arms higher to cover myself better. A red flush creeps over my face and neck and my heart pounds under his gaze.

"I'm not getting in that bed with you—" I start to protest as my resolve weakens but he sits up with the roll of his eyes, and suddenly reaches for me. I give a startled yelp as he wraps his arms around my waist. He turns over with me in his arms and pulls me down into the bed with him in a flurry of red.

A part of me wants to beat the crap out of him for doing it, while the other part is too busy giggling uncontrollably. I'm not sure why I'm laughing but I'm even less sure of why that laughter suddenly turns to tears as he lies on top of me.

I turn my head away so he can't see me cry, but he leans over me and turns my head with the tips of his fingers to look at me. My tears dry up as suddenly as they had come, and I sniff as I stare up into his eyes, then down at his mouth, so close to mine. He lowers his head, his breath light on my lips, and gently bites my lower lip before lifting it once more to whisper softly, "You are tired." Then he places the lightest kiss on my forehead and I close my eyes, feeling on the verge of tears once more at the sheer kindness of the gesture. "Sleep. With luck, tomorrow, we leave."

Breathlessly, I nod and turn over as he leans out one, long arm to turn off the lights. The darkness soothes me and before I can have too much time to think about it, I can feel sleep beginning to lull me in its warm embrace. Though that could just be Azazel's bare arms encircling me…

He murmurs something to me in Russian, arms tightening protectively around me as he presses into the curve of my body, already half-asleep himself and I feel my eye lids lower as my exhaustion overtakes me and leads me into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

I wake up alone, dazed and confused.

My hair is a mass of wily curls that flies out in multiple directions as I sit up rapidly, shivering and gasping as the nightmare begins to fade from my memory. All I can remember are screams and teeth tearing into flesh and blood everywhere.

…Maybe it's better that I don't entirely remember.

Looking out of the open window, I see that the sun has begun to set already. I've slept through most of the day. I stagger into the bathroom to relieve myself and sigh as I flush the toilet. I haven't had my period. It usually occurs around this time of the month but so far nothing. It hasn't been a full month yet, I remind myself weakly as I brush my teeth with the new tooth brush that Mina, the maid, placed in the bathroom. I hope they don't think we'll be staying very long.

Just to reassure myself, I toss it in the trash can after use.

After taming my hair, I step into the bedroom to see that Mina has already laid out some clothes on the dresser and I strip down and hold the material of the long sleeved, black dress against my bare skin, observing myself in the mirror. My cuts and bruises have healed over night, thanks to my new regenerative abilities, and my tanned, caramel skin looks fresh and new against the dark material.

I'm about to slip into the dress when Azazel bamfs into the room, wearing his usual black suit and striking smirk. I let out a scream and press the dress against my near-naked body, crouching behind the bed post, "Jesus, Azazel! What the hell?!"

Azazel lets out a soft chuckle, more of a huff of laughter really, and crosses his arms but makes no move to leave. "You were gone most of day."

I glare at him. "I noticed. Now get out."

He moves closer to me in response and I let my eyes burn with violet light in warning. Last night was a…slip up, on my part. But it won't be happening again. It can't happen again. Azazels' tail curls behind him as his gaze lingers at my partially exposed hip with a hungry expression. "We will be leaving soon," He adds quietly, biting his lip as his eyes move up to mine.

Relief washes over me, "Great. Where did they put my suit?"

"We are not leaving country," He says bluntly, stepping closer. I step back. This is not a good time to get comfy. Not with him looking at me like that, looking the way he does. My heart flutters and a familiar stir causes me to shift on my feet, my breathing deepening of its own accord. "There is Gala here in Vanhouven. Grigori demands our presence."

"Azazel, this doesn't sound right." I murmur weakly as he closes in on me. It would be so easy just to let the dress fall. I can feel my fingers loosening their grip. "Let's _go_. He can't touch us—"

"Grigori Vahkrov is a dangerous man," Azazel repeats for the umpteenth time, stopping a mere foot or so away. "He has connections. He has men in large numbers all over the world. He has power. If we run, he will chase. He will catch. He will kill. Would you bring the Russian Crime Syndicate down on your Institute?"

I shake my head automatically. I knew something was up with this guy. Azazel works for the mob.

I can hardly believe it and yet I'm not all too surprised by the confession. "No." I sigh. "No." Again I sigh and look up at him, pleadingly, "Just tell me we're getting out of here. I won't be a prisoner again. I've spent too much of my life behind bars—mentally and physically. I couldn't take it if—"

He hushes me and I wring the material in my hands as his frame melds into mine and he cranes his head down, his hands griping my shoulders and I feel his breath on my temple as he says, "If we play cards right, we walk. If all else fails…" He steps back from me and says with a confident smirk, " 'We run.' "

We. When did he and I become "we" again?

"Yeah, yeah. Just…get out of here before I knock you across the room." I say in a hoarse whisper in spite of the adrenaline in my blood that's screaming for him to stay. And, to my dismay, he gives a low, mocking bow but exits the room regardless.

_A Gala?_ I think to myself as I get dressed in the slinky black dress, the fog of shameful lust ebbing away. This _sounds like a set up, but what choice do we have? _Unless Emma can find us on Cerebro, we're on our own. And even then it would take days before they reach us, not to mention the danger of illegally flying to another country (which has been known to have a tense relationship with the states) in a stealth jet.

For now, I'll take Azazel's advice: "Play your cards right."

Right.

I head down stairs and am ambushed almost immediately by an entourage of armed guards who begin to usher me outside and to the car parked just outside. It's snowing and, even with the large fur coat that Mina placed around my shoulders on my way out, I'm shivering.

I hesitate only slightly when I find myself in Grigori's company once more. "Where is Azazel?" I ask, immediately noting his absence.

"Not here." Grigori replies vexingly as he stands at the car door. "He has gone ahead. I will be your escort for the night."

Pushing past the nauseating knot forming once more in the pit of my gut, I wordlessly slip past him and climb into the car, which shifts as he squeezes his large frame in after me. This car is smaller than the last one, I notice immediately.

I glance over at him as he stretches out his legs. He wears sharp, black pants and a thick woolen jacket. On his head sits a fuzzy cap which he removes with a groan as the car begins to move. My lip twitches in disdain of him and I look hurriedly away. The action doesn't go unnoticed.

"Am I really so terrifying, _little girl?"_

I turn my head to study him. His hooded, dark green eyes are fixed on mine with an unwavering stare that I'm beginning to think is customary for Russians in general and his ringed fists are curled on his lap in what appears to be a death grip. Everything about his demeanor cries out for me to run, for even covered in all of his fur, his size, his confidence, his deadliness, is incomparable.

For the first time, I offer a smile as fake as his own, and say sweetly, defiantly, "Not at all."

I can feel the air change in the car as his chest heaves beneath his jacket and his lips part in silent anger. He hadn't been expecting such a response. His fists clench and unclench on his lap and he grits his teeth as his already intense gaze builds like wild fire. Disturbed, I turn away to see that we are approaching a large building with beautiful, marble carvings and a golden globe-like roof. Lights are coming from inside and people by the numbers file in or crowd around outside as they wait to gain entry.

The car rolls to a stop and I go to get out—

Only to find my door locked. I look to Grigori accusingly and give a frightened gasp when jumps forward and pins me back against the door with a heavy thud, one arm strung across my shoulders while his left hand goes to my leg and jerks me down in my seat as he forces his weight down on me. The driver's eyes flicks uncertainly to the rearview mirror but he remains still; does nothing to help.

"_Do I frighten you now?"_

Gasping at his power, his size, the fire in his eyes, I feel a sudden panic rivaling even my worst encounter with Victor Creed. This Human. I am afraid of this Human. Angered by the thought, my eyes begin to glow and I raise up a violet hand to ward him off.

"Go ahead," He rasps through a thick undertone, staring at me fearlessly and my body gives a violent jerk as his rough hand travels under my skirt, uninvited. "Give me a reason."

The fire in my own eyes fades when I realize that attacking him would be like a death sentence—unless I kill him with a single blow—but that would require an immense amount of power that I've never tried before. And even then, who's to say his men won't come after us if I did manage to kill him? I can't think. I can't breathe. I'm trapped.

I shiver and tears spring to my eyes as his hand slips between my legs. "_No—"_ My own hand automatically goes to his as I try to pry him off and his fingers dig into flesh in response. "Let me go!" I whisper, my arms, legs, and voice trembling.

"I know when a man is in love," Grigori whispers back roughly, his breath shallow, "I know treachery when I see it. You are mine tonight, understand? Both of you belong to me and you will do what I say." I give a shuddering gasp as he paws at me, repeating his previous words, "You are mine tonight…Da?"

I remain silent, save for the involuntary whimpers that escape my awkwardly angled neck as I'm pressed against the door. My lip trembles, the smell of that same cologne from the night before suffocating me, but there's no way in hell I'll say what he wants.

My pathetic whimpering, however, seems to satisfy him enough and Grigori grins down at me, black eyes shining as he slowly, very slowly withdraws his hand from me, leaving a scalding sensation on my skin that travels deep down into my bones and leaves a permanent taint where he left his mark. "Good."

I stumble out of the car, bracing myself against the door as snow bites into my toes, exposed in my high heels. I look up to the grand building with a new sense of dread and my legs seem to root right to the spot as I am physically incapable of forcing myself to go inside. I don't want to go in there. I don't want to get back in the car. I don't want to be in Russia. I just want to run, and run, and run until I'm back in Colorado, preparing to take a Calculus test that I didn't study for because my dumb ass thought I could be an engineer.

I fidget, squeezing my eyes shut as Grigori takes hold of me and pries me away from the car and begins steering me into the building with a steady tread. "Smile." He tells me lightly, speaking as if we are good friends. Speaking as if he hadn't just threatened me not moments ago. The host greets us brightly as we walk into the lively lobby together. "This is party after all."

* * *

**More chapters coming soon! Thanks for reading!**

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	26. Chapter 26 Treachery

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the X-Men nor any of its affiliates. I own only my words and original material. Thank you and Enjoy; D**

Chapter 26: Treachery

Grigori keeps true to his word, never letting me leave his side. I feel as if I've been linked to him by some invisible chain that grows shorter and shorter the longer have to stay by him. Grigori boldly introduces me to his comrades; all relatively large, intimidating men who don't speak an ounce of English or who only know a few words or phrases and often tease me for it. I can tell because they keep saying, "American" and laughing amongst themselves whenever I turn to catch them staring at me like some wild animal that wandered in.

"See," Grigori murmurs to me once the group moves on to the buffet table in the main dining hall, where throws of upper class individuals sit around tables that have been decked out with candles, roses, and richly colored cloths. "Is not so hard, is it?"

I don't justify that with a response, not that I'd have time to since a new throng of men in tailored suits and stately beards approach Grigori. He goes to them, laughing loudly as they shout to each other in greeting and begin exchanging hugs. I hang back while he's distracted, letting the forced smile fade from my face.

I glance around for an exit when I find it in the form of Azazel.

He hangs back in the arc-way of the hall leading to the ballroom, hands in his pockets, watching. He adorns his disguise, fingering his watch thoughtfully as he surveys the large crowd of people gathered around a stage area, chatting amongst each other happily. I cast a glance at Grigori, feeling my face flush with hate, and make a B-line straight for Azazel, angry at him too for leaving me.

He hardly takes notice of me as I appear beside him, fuming but in desperate need of comfort. "Azazel—" I start to plead with him but before I have the chance, Grigori's cologne muddies my thoughts and his presence renders me mute. My absence didn't go unnoticed.

He puts a heavy hand on my shoulder as he says grandly, "Ah, there you are. I thought for moment you had run off on me." He chuckles brightly, nails digging my skin. "Ready to go on, Azazel? Luka has been most excited," He adds, gesturing to the impressive looking man with white hair standing just a ways behind him, who gives a courteous nod.

I frown, " 'What does he mean "go on?"' " I ask Azazel through our mental bond and he gives a faint smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth mischievously before turning the dial on his wrist and allowing the disguise to fall, revealing his crimson skin and wicked tail for all to see.

My horrified gasp is paralleled by awed murmuring as people begin to take notice of him, pointing and staring gleefully at his impressive persona.

"_What are you doing_?!" I whisper, trying to reach for the watch to turn back the dial but he moves away from my grasp and Grigori holds me back as Luka steps forward and says placidly, and in probably the worst English I've ever heard from a Russian, "It is…alright. Mutants are more…okay here in Vanhouven. No trouble."

I look to Azazel for confirmation and he nods once before turning, smoothing out his suit, to stalk into the crowd of people in the ballroom, who part in awe of him as he passes. A few people reach out to touch him only to draw back as if he were some mystical creature that ought not to be touched by anyone. He glides through the crowd fearlessly and I watch closely, tense and revved for an attack, but they watch him in complete adoration and mounting excitement as he approaches the stage. The eyes of men and women alike glisten as they take in his demonic features and heavenly blue eyes.

"Come," Grigori insists, snatching my arm and wrenching my attention away from Azazel, who appears to be some sort of celebrity here. I hear whisperings of his name as Grigori steers me to a table right in the center of the crowd; Luka following serenely behind. "You are not to be missing this."

He seats us both down at a table, leaving that same scalding feeling on my skin as before and I defiantly turn away from him to find that Azazel has disappeared. I, like the rest of the crowd, look around for him with growing anticipation as the lights dim and a low, lonely tune begins to play on a stand up bass that emerges from the darkness of the stage.

The soft tinkling of a piano starts in a moment later, accompanied by a gentle violin that lulls the crowd into a comfortable silence as we listen to the exchange of a melody that I find to be strangely…familiar. Then suddenly, he appears in a bamf at the front of the stage, surrounded in a mysterious smoky haze as a dim light illuminates his frame from above, and the crowd gasps and claps appreciatively, having been startled by Azazels' sudden appearance. The laughter and murmurings die down as he takes the stage.

The music rises, accompanied by more strings and percussion instruments as Azazel, to my astonishment, takes hold of a microphone…and begins to sing.

And it's a song that I know, not because I can understand its Russian lyrics but because I've heard him sing it before. Once, while he was taking a shower seventeen years ago. The morning that I fell through his roof and into his bed.

I remember how entranced by his voice I had been, by its sultry melody and the deep resonance of his tone, which had kept me from being able to escape. This is how I feel now more than ever. His voice literally captivates me and I am stuck fast in my seat, my hands numbly clawing at the velvety cloth spread over our little table as he sings out to the crowd. The melody has been slowed down and sounds more sexual now than it had when I first heard it.

My eyes are fixed on him, like everyone else's, my lips parted as I bring my curled fist up to my mouth and bite down on my finger, burning with an aching desire that intensifies as the song crescendos in its final chorus, during which Azazel throws carelessly flirtatious gestures into the crowd, earning giggles and sighs from the women in the crowd and even one or two men.

I'm too transfixed to feel jealous as he winks at a thin blonde across the way from me, but he makes up for it one hundred fold when his blue jewels lock onto my own eyes and he, unsmiling, holds my gaze and the final note of the Russian ballade with such dead-set passion that my pulse jumps into a gallop in my chest and my breath comes out in frantic pants. I've never wanted him or anyone else more than I do at this very moment, with Grigori's eyes burning holes into the back of my head and every woman in the crowd sizing me up enviously as the music fades and the lights turn up.

Azazel steps lithely off the stage, eyes still set on me, but before he can make his way over, he is immediately ambushed, but he merely gives a polite nod here or there, saying little. I give a start when Grigori's voice says sharply in my ear, "Don't you go anywhere now, little girl."

I jerked my head away from him, disgusted by that fragrance that follows him everywhere he goes thanks to that damn handkerchief, and glare daggers into his broad back as he steps grandly through the crowd which parts for him like the Red Sea. He throws an arm around Azazel's shoulders as he begins addressing the inquirers.

_He uses him_, I realize. _He Azazel as a lure to gain attention_. And why not? Devilishly handsome mutant with a talent for music and murder…what's not to like?

"So, you're Grigori's new toy, eh?" A stern old woman with red lips and shortly cropped, curly white hair says suddenly in a faint, Russian accent as she gracefully takes a seat beside me. I hadn't even noticed her approaching.

Her steel grey eyes notice the look of astonishment and apprehension mingling on my countenance and she gives a humorless chuckle as her hand, softened and wrinkled by time, pats one of mine, "Oh, I can always tell, dear. You'd best get rid of that look." She adds sagely. "Nothing is more inviting to my son than pain. Nothing more desirable than fear. And nothing more vexing than strength."

"_He's your son?" _I whisper incredulously. How could this wise, kindly woman have birthed such a detestable human being?

As if reading my thoughts, the woman shakes her head with a smile, "Da. He gets it from me I'm afraid. His father always was something of a push-over. Poor bastard, may he rest in peace."

"But if you know what he's like, why don't you do something about it?" I ask, unable to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice. I know it's not fair to blame her for the way her son is but someone has to answer for what happened back in that car. Someone has to pay for Grigori's actions.

But instead of jump to her own defense, the woman takes a deep breath, staring ahead ponderously as she says, "Oh, I intend to. And I'd advise you to take your little friend there and be gone when I do, lest you be caught in the cross fire."

"Are you serious?" I ask in a low voice, but I don't wait for an answer. I'm already half standing as I whisper excitedly, "You mean now?"

"No, no, dear," She waves me down calmly. "Not until much later. Now sit down or you'll give away the surprise. Speaking of which—" She begins to speak in booming Russian as a group of men in suits approach our table, and she gives a tight hug to one short man with an odd little mustache who speaks to her in a high-pitched, fast-paced voice—much different from the usual slow baritone of most of the Russian men here. It's a relief.

They finish their conversation and she sits down with a groan that speaks her age, "It's set. My son will perish tonight. By hell or high water."

While I would like nothing more than to see Grigori out of my life permanently, I can hardly believe any woman would want to see her own son killed, no matter how depraved he might be. Noting my emotions as easily as a telepath, Mrs. Vahkrov scoffs with a chastising look, "Don't give me that! I've given my son the chance to straighten up his act and all he's done is cost me millions and prove himself incapable of ensuring his own legacy. Oh, and there's the issue of him being a psychopath and all, but even that could be over looked if it amounted to anything." Mrs. Vahkrov takes a drag of a cigarette that she had lit while she spoke and exhales. "Worthless…Not unlike your friend there."

I follow her gaze to Azazel, whose eyes meet mine for a brief, electrifying moment that makes my lower abdomen do summersaults and I shift in my seat as she continues on, saying, "He's definitely got it…You haven't slept with him yet, have you?" She rightly assumes and I blush furiously, my hands folding tightly in my lap. "That's a 'No.'" She sighs and looks me dead on. "That's an awful lot of sexual tension you've got between you. And it'll eat you up if you're not careful. Tell you what, once Grigori is out of the way, I'll let you two have his estate a few hours before we sack it. That should be enough, right?" She asks, mistaking my silence for hesitance, but I'm honestly just blown away by her forthright manner and strange way of talking about such events as murder and sex.

It's like she's planning a shopping trip! And she's—what—seventy years old, my god!

"I—"I sputter. "Thank—you, but I don't think—that is, we really need to get back to America…"

She tsks at me, "America, America. Enjoy Russia a little bit, eh? It's not so bad here once you get past all of this—" She waves her hand irritably at the myriad of people still crowded around Grigori and Azazel. "You might not want to leave!"

"It is beautiful here…" I remark, not wanting to insult her. She's so knowledgeable, so blunt, so crass that I don't want to insult her or argue the point further. She's like the mother I'd always thought would be so much fun to have.

She stands abruptly and looks to me expectantly, "Come, you need to stretch out those legs or you'll be fidgeting all night. I'll show you how beautiful our people can be."

My gaze immediately goes to Grigori's massive frame and feel sick to my stomach. I can feel creases of worry morph my mouth into a frown and Mrs. Vahkrov rolls her eyes and pulls me to my feet with a surprisingly strong grip. "Don't worry about him. Let me handle my son, while you get some food in you. You have a woman's curves. This is good thing!" She adds, noticing my look. "Girls today are too obsessed with being thin that they can hardly bear children anymore!"

Woah, how'd we get to talking about kids?

As I listen to Mrs. Vahkrov go on about how she had wanted her son to give her grandchildren (but failed due to…issues), the subject reminds me painfully of my own kids—my sort of not-really adopted kids—from so long ago.

Tabitha.

Dimitri.

What happened to them? Is Tabitha alive? Does Dimitri hate me for not being able to save his sister? Do they both hate me for leaving them again? And Creed—

What the hell happened with Creed?!

Did Azazel kill him or not? I never asked! I hope he did…but at the same time I hope he didn't. I want to see that animal _suffer_ for hurting my Tabitha. I would face Sabretooth alone in a heartbeat if it meant protecting her—protecting them. It's my fault she was hurt again. I shouldn't have trusted Kelly to let her leave. I shouldn't have let her go at all. I—

"You must have a lot on your plate already," Mrs. Vahkrov remarks, looking down in distaste at my barren plate and I blink and look up at her as she asks, "What troubles you, child?"

I shake my head but for some reason, I am unable to keep myself from telling her the truth. "A very close friend of mine—whom I've grown to consider a daughter to me—was hurt just before we came here. I don't know if she's even…" My voice trails off as a painful lump wells in my throat and sorrow weighs down on my shoulders.

Mrs. Vahkrov puts a soothing hand on my arm and steers me towards a secluded table, away from most of the idle gossip going on around us. She leans forward as I catch my breath, fixing a hand in my hair, "It's my fault. I shouldn't have left her. She needed me and I—" I take a few breaths as a fire lights somewhere deep within me and my fist clenches and begins to glow without my consent as I hiss,_ "I'll kill him."_

"Is he here?" Mrs. Vahkrov asks and I shake my head. "Then you won't be killing anyone. Here now," She leans forward and gingerly wipes the tears from my eyes with her thumbs. "Let's not have any of that. I thought you were made of tougher stuff."

I give a breathy laugh, "I used to think so…but lately—"

"Nyet, I know a spitfire when I see one," Mrs. Vahkrov objects with confidence. "Now, you are going to sober up, my lovely, and you are going to hold your head high. Troubles will await you wherever you go. You'll never remove the obstacles in your way by crying over it and you certainly won't find justice in senseless threats. If this girl takes after you at all, she will live. And you will have to be strong. Not just for yourself, but for her as well."

She smiles warmly at me and tilts my chin beneath her fingertips, "No more tears. You are strong. Show them just how strong you are."

* * *

He had known something wasn't right the moment he laid eyes on her. No, that's not true.

It was when Grigori ordered him to go ahead to the Gala without them, that Azazel knew there was trouble brewing. But to argue the matter or flat out refuse to go simply wasn't an option. So he left. And he was regretting it now more than ever. Grigori clung to her, and Elizabeth stayed by his side most of the night.

He felt a surge of jealously course through him at the thought, clenching his fists as he eyed Grigori out of the corner of his eye. He'd always loathed the man, but this was inexcusable. Grigori must suspect Azazel's feelings for the girl. That's why he's kept her so close, and she…she stays by his side, no doubt already roped in by that false smile and empty eyes.

Azazel had no way of knowing what was actually going on. He could only see that she was straying away from him and that Grigori was stepping right on in. Growing angry once more at the thought, Azazel cast the tall blonde whom he had noticed vaguely in the crowd a faint smirk that lit his eyes ablaze and stole the woman's breath away as she met his look full on.

Her expression was already too needy for him.

He enjoyed the chase Elizabeth brought with her. As Grigori continued to ramble to potential benefactors about his plans to seal a guns laundering deal in St. Petersburg, Azazel found himself thinking back to the night before. He had been lying with her in his arms, surprised that she had even allowed him to be so close to her at all, and he had almost fallen asleep when her body suddenly began to disappear right before his eyes.

He'd sat up, reaching for her to try and wake her as a dreaded sense of déjà vu brought a distant memory to reality. He had to calm himself for a few minutes, reminding himself that she would return as she had so many nights before when he was surveying the Xavier Institute, but still the feeling of dread that she would not return would not leave him. He fell into an uneasy sleep and awoken covered in sweat and paranoid like so many nights before he set out on his journey to find the woman whose fading eyes haunted his dreams. He had seen her die so many times in these dreams that he soon grew angry at the fact that he wasn't desensitized to it already. Every time he watched her die, he would wake with her name on his lips and an ache in his chest.

And now she was slowly drifting away from him and moving closer to—

No.

Not Grigori.

Azazel had kept his distance for too long. He knew now that he couldn't force back his feelings for her any longer and so he wouldn't. He would protect her at all costs. Even if it meant crossing Grigori to do it.

In truth, Azazel no longer had family to protect. Only her.

She, on the other hand, had many to protect. However, discovering who those people are would be difficult even for Grigori, what with Elizabeth having been legally declared "dead" for the last seventeen years. Perhaps they could get away with it. But it would have to be tonight, Azazel decided. They would leave this place.

Even if he had to kill Grigori to do it.

* * *

**Next chapter to be coming out...relatively soon. Still working out the kinks of this next sequence but shouldn't be too long now. Thanks for the patience. Until next time...**

**~THESCRIBE!;D**


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